Shattered Illusions
by Robrafgon
Summary: The Lone Wanderer has saved the Wasteland, but at what personal expense? What happens now that no one is pushing her to save it? And will her violent past stay buried? Does the hero remain? Or does she leave that life behind? COMPLETE. CONTINUED IN PART 2: FRONTIER DREAMING.
1. From Whence You Came

"You can tell Tenpenny he can kiss my ASS! We got plenty of bottlecaps. Let. Me. In. GODDAMNIT!"

The harsh, angry voice cracked through the air like a gunshot. Well, maybe not a gunshot. Perhaps something less common than a gunshot. If it was a gunshot, the Wanderer supposed she would react. Then again in her condition she might not.

_Just ignore it. It's not your problem._

The still, Wasteland air hung heavy. Its oppressive heat pushing down on her. Her shoulders were sagged under its weight and her feet dragged through the dirt. One after the other. Left. Right. Repeat. She paused momentarily, her feet scraping to a halt in the cracked earth.

"How many times do we have to go through this? You're not getting in," a second voice replied. This one was crackly and distorted. An intercom, she realized.

Standing still with her shadow fanned out behind her, the Wanderer closed her eyes against the harsh sunlight of the Capital Wasteland. Not that it did much good. The light bled right through her eyelids. She silently wished for a pair of sunglasses. She didn't even care what style. Whatever she could come across. She'd had pair of sunglasses once. A nice pair of aviators. Butch had gotten them for her. But they were long gone, just like he was. She opened her eyes and folded her fingers over her brow just like she'd done when she first exited Vault 101. By now her eyes had adjusted to the outside, but nonetheless it was still very bright out.

"I can stand here all day yelling at you through this damn speaker if I have to!"

It was the first voice again. Still angry. Maybe I should see what's going on, she thought to herself.

_It's. Not. Your. Problem._

The Wander closed her eyes again, but this time it wasn't against the light. Her brow furrowed and she massaged her dark skin wearily. The voice was getting loud again.

_**Not unless you look.**_

"Voices" she corrected. Not just one anymore.

_Don't look._

_**Look**__._

_Don't do it._

_**LOOK!**_

They were so loud! She grit her teeth in frustration. If only Three Dog could see his beloved Lone Wanderer now, she thought bitterly. Ha. Lone Wanderer. She was never alone. Not anymore. _They_ wouldn't leave her alone.

The Wanderer sighed wearily. She might as well look, if not to satisfy her own curiosity then to shut them up. That would be the easiest way to return to the quiet of the Wasteland. Or she could get a fix.

She shook her head like a dog. No. Don't think about that. That'll just make things worse. She'd run out of Jet last night. Psycho two nights before that. Her hands would begin to shake soon. She'd gone through withdrawal symptoms plenty of times before to know exactly what awaited her.

To distract herself from the unpleasantness in her immediate future she craned her neck to the side to see exactly who was shouting.

Her eyes widened slightly. Where was she? Towering above her was a building in most of its prewar glory. It stood as an unusual and out of place pillar of decadence surrounded by desert and decay. A wall surrounded the building. Standing before a metal gate stood an irate ghoul. He was pounding his decaying fist against the wall right next to a battered intercom.

"I've already told you Tenpenny won't allow zombies to live here," crackled the intercom.

The ghoul stood back, shaking in barely contained rage.

"Who the hell are you calling a zombie!?"

The ghoul's scratchy voice grated against her nerves. Raw fire coursed through her head.

"_You wouldn't be withdrawing if you'd killed that scavenger a week ago. He had chems._

The voice sounded bitter. Like it wanted the chems even though they would silence it. But she didn't know if the scavenger had anything. She had no way of knowing that. The voice was probably just bitter that she hadn't killed him. That's all it ever wanted. Blood and destruction. Then again she'd wanted the scavenger dead too. She'd just wanted him dead because he was an ass. She didn't have any caps to pay and he'd wanted... other methods of payment. After telling him she wouldn't sleep with him he'd packed his wares away and taken off. So, no Jet or Psycho for her. Or water, or food for that matter.

Her headache intensified and her stomach suddenly heaved. Fuck, she'd even take Med-X or Buffout right about now. Anything to take the edge off.

"You're definitely not human, that's for damn sure. For the last time: NO ZOMBIES ALLOWED!" the speaker man shouted with commanding finality.

"Can't tell the difference between me and a feral?"

The stupid ghoul was yelling again. All she wanted was for the yelling to stop.

_**You can help them. They'll stop shouting then.**_

If the first voice wanted nothing, but blood, then the second wanted nothing, but the opposite. Throw yourself at other people's problems. Take everyone's pain away. Like that did anything to take away her own pain.

_Or you could shoot them. Can't shout if you're dead._

She scrunched her eyes up as tight as she could. They weren't there. It was all in her head. There were no voices. There weren't. She was alone.

Always alone.

Her fingers twitched. It was the beginnings of the shakes. Goddamn it, she really needed a fix.

"Fine. I'll show you the goddamn difference! Just you wait," the ghoul shouted before stomping away from the speaker with his rotting face twisted up in fury. He whirled back towards the tower, shaking his fist vehemently.

"You'll get yours. All of you!"

He turned on his heel and stomped towards the Wanderer, fuming.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked meekly, her headache growing stronger by the minute.

"Out of my fucking way, smoothskin," he said brusquely. He pushed past her, deliberately bumping into the girl. The Wanderer stumbled and nearly fell. Red surged across her vision. Rage filled her every corner. How dare he do that? Did he know who she was? What she'd done for him? What she'd done for the entire, stupid, fucking Wasteland? What she'd lost? HOW DARE HE?

The voices were shouting again, but they were silenced compared to the blood pounding in her ears. Her quivering hand was steadying by the second and it strayed towards the revolver holstered at her hip. The ghoul didn't even notice. He just kept walking, unaware of what he'd done.

_YES! Do it! Kill him!_

The voice wanted blood? Well, it was going to get it this time. Her palm brushed the grip and she drew the revolver. The voice was cackling with glee. The other one was sullenly silent. She leveled the gun at the ghoul. Even without VATS, the ghoul was a dead man.

"You've got a bright future ahead of you, sweetie. I'm sure of it..."

Her eyes shot wide open and her jaw dropped slightly. Her quivering hand released the gun and it clattered to the dirt. That voice wasn't one of hers. That was the voice of a dead man. No. No. She couldn't take this. He was dead. Dead! Her vision started to blur. His voice couldn't be here! It couldn't! It was impossible! Dead men do _not_ talk. The Wanderer felt like the world was crumbling around her. This was not something she could handle. She couldn't take this. He was DEAD! "No, no, no, no," she muttered weakly. The Wanderer sank to her knees in the dirt. The shaking in her hands spread to the rest of her body. She hugged herself and rocked back and forth. Tears threatened to well over and spill from her eyes.

The ghoul never even turned back.

The Wanderer sat there in the shadow of the tower, gasping for air. She had to- She didn't know what she had to do. She couldn't think. Her head was too full. What did she have to do? What could she do? She had to-

Home.

She had to go home.

With a heaving sob and a gasp for air, she staggered to her feet. She grabbed her revolver adnd glanced at the compass on her PipBoy and took off at a ragged sprint in the opposite direction the ghoul had stalked off in. The rocks and landscapes blurred past her. None of it registered to her torn and panicked mind. She just had to get away from that voice! If she could just get home then everything would be alright. It had to be.

Past the RobCo facility. Past Fort Independence she ran. She could see the walls of Megaton in the distance and knew she was almost there. Almost. Crags of rock rose in front of her as she passed under crumbling highways. Her foot caught and she fell. Her knees cut on the rock, but she barely felt it. Up into the slight hills she ran. But it wasn't Megaton she was running towards. It was her home before the Wasteland. The home before she'd lost it all.

Coming to a shuddering stop and panting heavily, she saw it. The door in the rock.

The door to Vault 101.

She tore open the door and stumbled down the corridor carved in the earth. Up ahead she saw the great door to the Vault. The proud 101 still emblazoned in paint shined on its metal surface. With shaking hands, from nerves or from withdrawal, she was not sure, she slowly reached towards the control panel. Tentatively she punched in the code.

Nothing.

The password had been changed.

_But you knew that._

_**Why do you always come back here?**_

Why did she always come back? The Wanderer staggered backwards against the rock wall and slid down it. The tears did spill this time. They tracked through the mud and grime caked on her face. She started to sob.

"W-why... why won't you let m-me back?" she cried.

"WHY!?" she shouted at the camera above the door.

She lunged at the door and began pounding away. She felt bones break in one of her hands, but she didn't care. The pain was a relief. It meant she could feel something other than the mind numbing sorrow that ran through her.

"WHY!?" she screamed again. "LET ME IN! PLEASE!"

Her hits fell weaker and weaker against the Vault. The Wanderer slid down it sobbing into the dirt. She collapsed, her face lying in the grime.

"Please. I just want to go home."

"I don't want to be alone." cried the Lone Wanderer.


	2. Goodbye, My Past

Her first sensation upon waking up was sticky wetness. A rough tongue pulled across her face dragging more saliva with it. The Wanderer sat up quickly, her revolver drawn in the blink of an eye. A happy bark greeted her return to consciousness. A large, black and gray mongrel sat happily with the barrel of the gun between its eyes.

"Dogmeat."

The Wanderer smiled at the mongrel. For such a fierce beast the dog acted like a puppy at times. He sat back on his haunches with his tail sweeping back and forth across the dirt floor. His tongue flopped out to the side in a comical way. Strands of the same saliva coating her face hung from his jaws. She drew her forearm across her face.

"Blech."

The dog barked happily. He seemed to think his saliva was a welcome gift to the poor girl. She, however, did not want to think about where her dog's mouth had been.

"Were you waiting for me, boy? Were you?"

She scratched under his chin. Dogmeat's eyes closed in happiness. Despite her former maudlin attitude, the dog's mood was infectious. She pulled the hound in close and hugged him. Dirt and blood was caked into his fur, but she didn't care. Dirt and blood was caked in her hair as well. Of the two of them she wasn't actually sure who was cleaner. She actually feared washing her hair. The fearsome angel wings crowning her head on either side had taken considerable time to cultivate and the water might ruin it.

"Come on, pup. Let's go outside."

Planting a hand on the wall, she hoisted herself to her feet. The room spun around her. She groaned miserably. She hadn't crashed this hard in a long time. Her need for chems was growing desperate. She tried to take a step, but stumbled and keeled over towards Dogmeat. The dog yelped in surprise, but managed get out of the way as his owner thudded into the dust moaning. He stepped up to her cautiously and sniffed her head. He cautiously stuck his tongue out and licked her ear. She rolled away from it and puked. After several more dry heaves she felt steady enough to get to her knees.

"Come here, boy. I need a hand." She motioned for Dogmeat to come closer. He dutifully stuck his neck under her hand and helped support his master. After the better part of ten minutes and a great deal of aid from the wall and Dogmeat, the Wanderer shuffled out of the tunnel and into the bright sunshine. She turned her face from the light and sagged against the cliff-side. She must have been in the tunnel all night and most of the morning.

"Ooohh. God. It's too bright. Too bright," she murmured and closed her eyes in pain.

With several shaking steps she carefully walked over to a group of rocks looking out towards Megaton. Taking a seat on one she rested her head in her hands. Her head was pounding. The drums of withdrawal beating a rapid tempo against her skull.

"Dogmeat. Here." The dog heeded her command and trotted over.

"I need you to find something for me? Okay, boy? Here. Smell."

She fished in her pocket for an empty container of Jet. The dog sniffed the container. Immediately, his ears flattened against his skull and a low growl rumbled out of his chest.

"Please, boy. I need it," she whispered. The growl petered out into a whine before the dog turned and trotted off. The Wanderer laid back and splayed out on the boulder.

"Good boy," she murmured. Her eyes closed and she sighed. Even her dog disliked them, but she had to have the chems. She'd needed them almost as soon as she left the Vault. At first they'd been used to keep her subjugated, but later they'd kept her in one piece as she trekked across the Wasteland to find... _him._ They'd helped her heal, aim her gun, fight, and survive all for _him_. She couldn't think about him. Not right now. She couldn't think about anything. Something poked into her thigh. God she hoped it wasn't a person. The poking became more insistent. She cracked one eye open. It was Dogmeat. He'd returned.

"Back so soon, boy?" The dog dropped something at it's mistress's feet. The Wanderer sat up with a groan. Her stomach still hadn't fully settled. She bent down and picked up what her dog had retreived.

It was a hand. A human hand. But in that hand was... a full inhaler of Jet.

A smile broke out across her face. She knew she shouldn't be happy to see the drug, but she was. She didn't really care how addicted she was. As long as she kept getting her fix there wouldn't be a problem. No voices, no worries, just blissful nothingness. The Wanderer eagerly peeled the fingers of the hand back and cupped the inhaler to her face. She breathed in and grinned as the heady rush spread throughout her body. The shaking stopped, her aches and pains faded, and a wonderful tingling replaced them. Dogmeat nervously pawed at her leg. She glanced down and he put his head on her thigh and looked up at her. She scratched him on his head with a smile.

"Everything's all right boy. Everything is all right."

The Wanderer scooched over on the boulder and patted it. The dog hopped up and sat down on his haunches. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Dogmeat. You really saved me there."

The dog just nipped her ear affectionately. She giggled and jerked back. Dogmeat was the only one who could get her like this. Smiling and laughing. The smile on her face was genuine. To anyone else her smiles never touched her eyes, but for the dog it was completely real. That was because the dog was the one person who didn't judge her. He loved her unconditionally and that was all she needed.

"What am I doing here, Dogmeat? What's going on with me? I can't even think anymore. There's just too many voices up here. All competing to be heard, but I just don't care what they have to say anymore."

She didn't know what she was expecting. The dog wasn't going to answer.

"They were all shouting at me today. I couldn't handle it. I had to come home, but the Vault... I-" She choked back a sob again. Tears started to run down her cheek.

"They locked me out, Dogmeat. They locked me out of my home." Dogmeat licked the tears off her cheek. The two of them sat there and looked out over the Wasteland. Megaton rose up in the distance.

"Megaton isn't home. Not anymore. They just want their hero. The Hero of the Wasteland! But I'm not her. Not anymore." She laughed. "It's not like I ever was. Where do I go Dogmeat? Where can I go? The Wasteland doesn't want me. Nobody does." A piteous whine escaped from Dogmeats mouth.

"I know you do." She scratched his ears and he panted happily.

"I heard his voice today..." The Wanderer pulled a shaky breath into her lungs. "I heard him, Dogmeat. I was going to shoot this ghoul and I heard his voice." The dog looked at her quizzically.

"I _heard_ him, Dogmeat." She kept trying to explain. "It was him! I know he'd dead, but I heard him! Some ghoul outside of this tower pissed me off and I was just going to kill him! And then I heard his voice! Am I finally losing it, Dogmeat? Is this it?" The tears started falling now. She couldn't stop it. Dogmeat scrabbled off the rock and stuck his head into her hands, trying to comfort the sobbing girl.

There just wasn't room in the Wasteland for the Lone Wanderer anymore. She'd saved them all and they'd left her by herself. The Brotherhood had thanked her for her service, given her an honorary knighthood, and kicked her out the door. Rivert City had never trusted her. Megaton just wanted to worship her as their hero, but didn't want _her_, and the Vault was locked. There was nowhere else. No- The Wanderer paused mid-sob. Wait. The tower. Tenpenny Tower. People lived there. And from what she could tell they weren't the average Wasteland type either. They had walls, they had security, and most importantly they didn't know her. That's where she could go! But how could she get in? They clearly weren't letting just anyone in.

The Wanderer furrowed her brow. How could she get in there? She cupped her chin on a palm and stared off past Megaton.

The bomb.

She knew how she could get in. Mr. Burke.

That slimy bastard she'd met when she'd first gotten to Megaton. He'd wanted her to blow up Megaton. At the time she'd been horribly opposed to it and instead disarmed it and set Sheriff Simms on the man. He worked for Mr. Tenpenny. Burke was his man in the Wastes. Finding whatever needed to be found and doing whatever needed to be done. She'd certainly offended him and set him back, but a man like Mr. Burke was always open to negotiations. And she certainly had things to offer him. Her skill set made her uniquely qualified to do whatever he needed.

She rose to her feet, startling Dogmeat in the process. "Come on, Dogmeat. We've got to get back to Megaton. Quickly."

The two of them ran off down the hill Vault 101 rested atop. They jogged off through the ruins towards the township. The Wanderers mind was racing the entire time. Tenpenny Tower might be just what she was looking for. A new home where no one knew her and no one would judge her. She could just live her life. And she had Moriarty in Megaton for easy access to her chems. Since she wouldn't be aimlessly wandering the Wasteland she could always come back and get more from the bar owner. This could be it!

She sprinted faster, her past problems forgotten. Dogmeat hurdled some debris next to her and barked happily. First, she had to resupply. She wasn't going to be let in Tenpenny Tower looking like a raider. The blastmaster armor she was clad in had served her well the past few weeks, but between it and all the blood covering her, she would be unsurprised if a nervous person shot her on sight.

"Hold it right there!"

Speaking of which.

The Wanderer slowed to a stop in front of the gates of Megaton. Deputy Weld stood there with his beam charging, but holding fire. However, it wasn't him who had spoken. Lucas Simms, sheriff and mayor of Megaton, stepped out from the shadows of Megaton's walls. He had his assault rifle shouldered and aimed at her.

"Don't move, raider. You best keep on walking." The Wanderer scowled at him. "Lower you rifle, Simms."

Simms frowned. His barrel dipped slightly, but didn't stray far. "Wait a minute. Wanderer?"

"I said put your gun down!" she hissed through her teeth. She didn't like anyone pointing their guns at her, but Simms was a special case. She _hated_ him pointing his at her.

"Shit, girl. I didn't recognize you. Thought you wouldn't be keen to put raider armor on again."

"It's better than being naked." She stalked forward and tried to brush past him, but he put a restraining hand on her chest and held her back. She swatted his hand away angrily. "Don't touch me, Simms!" She pushed past him and he grabbed her shoulder this time. "Hold it." As soon as his hand grabbed her she spun around and had her revolver pushed into his throat.

"You gonna shoot me?"

"I'm considering it." Deputy Weld clunked up behind her. "I'd reconsider before my Deputy puts a laser bolt in your back." The Wanderer slowly pulled the gun away from his throat. He breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed his neck.

"Damn, girl. Thought you were really going to do it."

"I was," she replied vehemently.

Simms frown deepened. "Now, come on. I'm just making sure you're all right."

"Like you care."

"I do-"

"Don't lie to me, Simms. Don't," she interupted. "I'm just here to grab some things from my home and see Moriarty."

"Right. Of course you are. Got to get your fix."

"Don't even go there." The Wanderer got up in his face and jabbed her finger into his chest. "Don't bother me, Simms. I'll be in and out in an hour. So stay out of my way." Simms looked like he was going to continue arguing, but he sighed and stepped to the side. The Wanderer walked away without a second look. Dogmeat growled at the sheriff as he passed.

The Wanderer cut off to the right as soon as she was through the gate. Moriarty's Saloon was at the back of Megaton and she was in no way going to interact with the general populace if she didn't have to. With Dogmeat on her heels she walked through the shadows behind the main buildings of the town. She hated coming here, but Moriarty was the only way to get large amounts of chems in the Wasteland. Well, except for raiders, but she shot raiders on sight, so Evergreen Mills was unlikely to deal with her.

"Well, as I live and breathe, the Lone Wanderer!"

The Irish brogue of the speaker interrupted her musings. Moriarty was leaning on the railing outside his saloon, smoking a cigarette and staring out over the rest of the city below. "And how can I help our fair hero on this fine day?"

The Wanderer narrowed her eyes at him, but restrained herself. She still needed the man, so while she didn't have to be polite, she suspected that punching him would not be beneficial to their dealings.

"I'm here for my pickup," she said. Moriarty nodded and turned to head back into the Saloon, but was caught by the Wanderer. "I need a larger supply than usual. At least a month."

"Well, now. Planning a little trip are we?" Again, not wanting to sabotage her dealings the Wanderer opted to stay silent. "That'll involve a price increase, Wanderer." She just threw a bag of caps at him.

Moriarty hefted the bag in one hand and, apparently satisfied, motioned for the Wanderer to follow him into the bar. "Give me a moment to get your new order ready. Get a drink on the house while you wait."

She nodded and followed him in. All eyes seemed to turn and focus on the newcomers. Many turned right back to their drinks when seeing who it was. Unlike the rest of the city, Moriarty's Saloon was well acquainted with the Wanderer. Billy Creel studiously refused to look up from the table towards her. Gob muttered a nervous, "Wanderer," before pouring her a glass of rum. Nova quickly shifted away from the bar as she approached. The Wanderer was no business she wanted ever again. Too much crazy, she'd told Gob. Without looking at anyone, the Wanderer sat down at the bar. She picked up her glass and drained it. The saloon seemed to exhale a held breath. She wasn't there for any of them. Once upon a time a girl had come into Moriarty's Saloon asking questions. Now a days, it was the Lone Wanderer who came in and she wasn't keen on asking anyone anything. She preferred much more direct methods now.

"Here you are, Wanderer. One months supply. Assorted." The Wanderer turned. Moriarty stood behind her holding a duffel bag, a bag she knew to be stuffed with chems. She took the bag and turned to leave.

"As usual thanks for the business!" he called after her. "Nova! What are you doing, skulking over there? Gob! Get back to work."

His shouts were cut off as the door closed. The Wanderer leaned on the same railing Moriarty had occupied not a few minutes earlier. She unzipped the duffel. Inside were bunches of Jet inhalers as well as over a dozen needles full of Psycho. As she closed the bag, she looked down into the main square at the undetonated atomic bomb. Mr. Burke had first approached her here at the Saloon and asked her to sabotage it. She'd immediately turned on him. Now here she was. Preparing heself to crawl back to him. It didn't bother her. Pride had been something stripped away from her long ago by the Wasteland. Pride just got you killed. Standing next to the bomb was Lucas Simms. The sheriff might be giving her space, but he wasn't going to let her out of his sight. He shook his head sadly when he caught sight of the bag. The Wanderer made a point not to give him the satisfaction of showing that she'd noticed him.

With Dogmeat on her heels, she walked along the upper catwalks of Megaton towards the house the people had gifted her in gratitude. "Look who's back in town?" called Jericho as she walked past his residence. While he was no longer a raider, the fact that he once upon a time been one earned him a place on her bad side. Before he could start anything, she quickly unlocked her front door and escaped inside.

Wadsworth was there to greet her with an enthusiastic, "Greetings, Mistress!" She waved hello and instructed the robotic butler to start preparing her gear for her. "Wadsworth, grab the nicest set of leather armor I have out of the closet. I'll also need some weapons. I'll leave that to your discretion." The droid tipped its head in a shallow bow and busied itself readying her supplies. Dogmeat trotted past him and dropped to the floor next to the stove. He was familiar enough with the house to recognize it as safe to take a nap. The Wanderer left the two of them in the main room and ascended the stairs to her private room. She stripped of the blastmaster armor and sat on the bed. She looked down at herself as she struggled to pull off her boots. Scars crisscrossed her grimy skin. Several tattoos adorned her arms. It was almost a stranger's body to her. She walked across the small rooms and rubbed a clean patch in the mirror hanging on the wall. Haunted eyes looked back at her. The innocent girl who'd once left Vault 101 was gone. In her place was a fearsome woman. Her head was framed by the fearsome double mohawk she'd adopted months ago. Her hair had been died a vivid scarlet, but her natural black showed at the roots. Even her eyes had changed. Once vivid green, the Wanderers eyes had over time changed to dirty red from ruptured blood vessels due to the excessive chem use she'd put her body through. Her skin was stained with dirt, sweat, and blood. Her body was a mess of damage and grime. That's why she'd abandoned her old armored Vault suit in favor of the raider armor. At least it was mostly new.

She sighed into the mirror. No use dwelling on the past. Now she was trying to make herself a new life. One that wasn't fraught with misery and suffering. Or at least her own misery and suffering. She pulled the grimy sports bra over her head. The thing had been stained with more sweat and blood than she cared to admit. The panties too. She kicked them off onto the bed with the rest of her old clothes.

"Excuse me, mistress, I have your- Oh my! I am so sorry, mistress! I didn't realize you weren't decent!" The Wanderer looked over her shoulder. Wadsworth was hovering in the doorway and trying hard to avert his optical sensor to protect her modesty, another thing she'd simply gotten used to giving up to the Wasteland.

"Do you have my armor, Wadsworth?" she asked. "Yes, mistress," answered the droid. "Put it on the bed then." "Of course."

The Wanderer walked back across the room to her dresser. She opened several drawers until she found some mostly clean undergarments. Wadsworth floated awkwardly to the bed with his back turned to her. He laid a meticulously cared for set of leather armor on the bed. The Wanderer nodded in satisfaction. The butler had kept good care of the items she'd left in the house. With his duty done, the robot hurried from the room. If he had the capacity to, the Wanderer was sure he'd have been blushing. She quickly dressed herself and returned to the downstairs. Wadsworth had just finished laying out her weapons on the table.

"What do you have for me, Wadsworth?"

"Ah! Yes. I've selected the weapons in highest repair that you've stored here, mistress. I was unsure of your destination so, I've brought out the best variety for any adventurer. A Chinese Assault Rifle for you madam, along with a 10mm handgun and this rather impressive sawed off shotgun. As well as a combat knife. I was unable to find any of your swords, mistress."

"It's alright, Wadsworth. This is fine." she murmured as she assessed the weapons. The knife was holstered along her breast (easy access for both hands) and the pistol on her thigh in the holster rig Wadsworth had thoughtfully prepared. The shotgun was tucked into a strap along the small of her back and the rifle slung over her shoulder. She shouldered the duffel bag of chems and headed for the door.

"Mistress! Are you leaving already?" exclaimed the droid in a panic. "Yes, Wadsworth. I was just here for a resupply."

"It's not because I interrupted your dressing earlier, mistress, was it?"

The Wanderer smiled at the fussy robot. "No, Wadsworth. It's nothing you did." The droid seemed relieved.

"Oh, well. Do return quickly. You spend far too much time away from home."

The Wanderer's smile dropped. "I know, Wadsworth. I know." If everything went according to plan then the Wanderer would never have to return to this house again. Maybe she could bring the robot butler with her? No. She was leaving her old life behind. She wasn't bringing anything with her.

Except Dogmeat, but he was an exception.

She called for her hound and walked out the door of her house for the last time. Her future lay to the southwest in Tenpenny Tower.


	3. Make Me A Deal

The sun was just beginning to rise as the Wanderer and Dogmeat crested the final hill between them and their destination. Tenpenny Tower stood in resplendent glory as the sun's rays fell on it. The early light painted the tower in vivid yellows and oranges. The Wanderer smiled.

It was her first genuine smile (asides the ones reserved for Dogmeat) in a long while. She couldn't remember the last time she was looking forward to something. Usually her life consisted of reacting to problems in the moment or having an immediate concern to deal with, but Tenpenny Tower was different. This was a new future, one that wasn't overshadowed by her past.

The two of them descended the hill and headed for the main gate. The black steel rose up above her head. The bars had metal sheets and grating welded to both sides to bolster its defensiveness. The Wanderer slowly approached the intercom with apprehension. What was this? Why was she nervous? She grimaced bitterly as she realized what the feeling was. Hope. Hope was something she was used to being disappointed in. Not this time, however. This time she wasn't letting go of her hope without a fight.

She pressed the button on the intercom next to the gate. A loud buzzing broke the quiet morning. She heard movement on the other side of the wall. A tired voice, different than the one she'd first heard, answered with a yawn.

"Ugh, what do you want? It's 7AM," the voice complained. "Come back later. Or better yet not at all."

The intercom clicked off, but a muttered, "Stupid bitch," was still heard.

"I'm here to see Mr. Burke."

A muffled curse floated over the wall. The guard had not pressed the transmit button on the intercom, but his dismay at accidentally trying to dismiss one of Burke's supposed employees couldn't be hidden that easy. The Wanderer enjoyed that. She always reveled in the fear she inspired which she realized probably was not a healthy feeling, but what was healthy in her life these days?

"Right, right. My apologies," he hastily returned through the intercom. "I'll buzz you in."

With another buzz the intercom shut off. A distinctive click sounded as the gate unlocked. With a groan one of the metal doors was pulled open. A young guard stood in the doorway with his rifle trained out at the Wasteland. The Wanderer eyed his rifle.

"Sorry, sorry. It's not for you ma'am," he lowered his rifle. "All sorts of scum try to get into Tenpenny Tower. It's our job to make sure that doesn't happen, but you'd know all about that being one of Mr. Burke's employees."

"Of course," replied the Wanderer. "You never know who'll do something stupid and try to get in here."

"Tell me about it." The guard shrugged and stepped aside, waving her in. "We've had these ghouls trying to get in for the past couple of weeks. It's starting to get some of the residents on edge."

The Wanderer listened intently and only agreed with a muted, "Mmmm."

"But don't let me hold you up, ma'am. Head right in the main doors. Chief Gustavo should be in the lobby. Talk to him about your meeting with Mr. Burke." The Wanderer nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, and ma'am! If you wouldn't mind. Please don't mention what I said earlier, I mean, if you could. I didn't know who you were and the night shift is very stressful and I just..." His excuses petered out.

"It'll be our little secret."

With that the Wanderer left the terrified guard at the gates. Dogmeat kept close to her heels as they entered the tower. He was uncomfortable being in a new place and was thus expecting danger. Which apparently meant that he had to stay close enough to her to trip her if she tried to move sideways.

The Wanderer just shook her head at the paranoid dog. The dangerous part was over. Getting through the main gate was the prime challenge. From here on out it should just be honey coated words to cement her place here. From what the guard had told her, the ghoul problem she'd witnessed was a more serious problem for the tower than she'd initially thought. Which was good. She could use that with Burke. The man's silver tongue made him a formidable negotiator, but she was no slouch in that department either. She may prefer to talk with guns and blades, but when necessary she could certainly talk someone down from a ledge, or her way into a prestigious private residence.

"And who the hell are you," a voice interrupted.

The interrupter was a large Hispanic man clad in the same armor as the gate guard. However, his was significantly nicer. His voice was also the one she'd first heard on the intercom.

"Chief Gustavo," she surmised aloud.

"Yeah, now I repeat, 'who the hell are you?'"

"I'm here for a meeting with Mr. Burke."

"Great," he muttered. "Mr. Burke neglected to mention you'd be stopping by. Which he's usually very adamant about. Plenty of trash out their in the Wasteland. Plenty of dangerous people too." Chief Gustavo's hand strayed to the pistol at his side.

"And which one do you think I am?" Dogmeat punctuated the question with a growl, but the Wanderer remained still.

"Don't get cute, missy," Gustavo returned. "May I ask what your business with Mr. Burke is?"

"You should know. You were arguing with it the other morning."

Gustavo's hand came off his gun and his stance loosened up. "Roy Phillips? Burke finally hired someone to deal with that zombie? Finally! Someone's going to wipe his little zombie group off the map."

"Not necessarily. I'm just supposed to solve the problem. The 'how' is up to my discretion."

"Your bleeding heart is liable to get you in a lot of trouble one day. Look kid, eventually all ghouls go zombie on your ass, it's only a matter of time. Kill them when you find them. It's a win-win. You put them out of their misery, and save someone else from getting torn apart."

"Perhaps. Killing isn't _off _the table, but why waste the bullets if I don't have to?"

The Wanderer smiled wide at the security chief who shifted uncomfortably. He'd clearly gotten the measure of the young woman wrong. Whoever she was, he did not want anything to do with her. Burke's people were Burke's problem, and he didn't like the way that monstrous hound was eying him either. Though he wasn't sure which one of them unnerved him more.

"Fine, whatever. Your problem. Welcome to Tenpenny Tower. Don't do anything stupid."

The Wanderer nodded her assent. "And where is Mr. Burke?"

"Out. He should be back shortly. Feel free to visit any of the businesses here on the first floor. Anything else is off limits, and don't bother the residents either," he warned sternly. "Actually just stay out of their way completely, why don't you?"

He eyed the Wanderer from top to bottom. "Some of our more esteemed residents might find your appearance offensive. Though, now that I think about, Dashwood would probably enjoy talking to someone with your... qualities."

The Wanderer just smiled again. Chief Gustavo was again shaken by the feeling he assumed would be similar to staring down a shark. "I'll just be over there." The Wanderer pointed to a bench on the far side of the atrium.

"...Right."

The Wanderer and Dogmeat retired to the bench. Leaning her head back against the cool marble of the walls she observed the atrium of Tenpenny Tower. To say it was beautiful was an understatement. It was magnificent. Deserted at the moment, but magnificent nonetheless. Tenpenny had meticulously made sure that the prewar hotel had not lost any of its glory.

With her head resting, the Wanderer closed her eyes. This was going to be her new home! A life in the lap of luxury. Excitement made her fingers tingle, or maybe that was the Jet. It didn't matter. Sure, she would have to occasionally leave the tower to continue earning her residency, but if everything went according to plan with Burke and the ghouls she would have a place to lie her head at night and spend her days in comfort.

"So, you're the one who managed to talk her way in here."

The cool voice of Mr. Burke broke her reverie. Slowly opening her eyes the Wanderer was greeted to the sight of Mr. Burke flanked by Gustavo and several other guards.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Burke. I didn't realize you didn't know her. We'll escort her from the premises immediately."

"Oh, no, Gustavo. I do know her. Which is why I would greatly appreciate it if you and your men would keep your weapons trained on her." The clack off rifles being shouldered accompanied the guards hurrying to obey his orders.

"I'm not here for trouble, Burke."

"Oh, really? And is there any reason why I should listen to a word you say. You've stabbed me in the back in the past? Though I must say I should be thankful it was in the past. The new you would _literally_ stab me in the back."

"I have a proposition for you."

"And why would you have a proposition for me?"

The Wanderer leaned forward and unfolded her hands from where they were resting and put one on Dogmeat's neck.

"As you said. I'm a new me."

Mr. Burke appeared to be mulling over the costs and benefits in his head. The man was cautious if nothing else. He was probably thinking it would be safer to just shoot her. She'd have to tip the man's opinion in her favor.

"Or you could just shoot me, but then those ghouls will probably just rally enough of their kind to take the tower from you. I think Roy Phillips is done offering caps."

Burke's eyes narrowed. "And just what are you proposing? That you'll deal with him?"

The Wanderer's cold smile returned. "Not at all. My proposal is giving you access to my talents. Whatever you need, I will be happy to oblige. Dealing with Phillips, consider it an interview."

"And just what will this cost me?"

"Residency."

It was Mr. Burke's turn to smile.

"And just why would you want to live in Tenpenny Tower? And don't tell me it's the décor or the company?"

"I'm tired of the Wasteland," she replied. "I want someplace to live where people don't look at me as Three Dog's hero. I want... I want to rest. I'm tired, Burke. Tired of fighting for survival. I deserve more than what the Wasteland has given me. Tenpenny Tower is what I deserve."

"Deserve?"

"I'm more than willing to work for it."

"And if I were to believe that very well rehearsed emotional reveal, why would we let you live here? The Lone Wanderer: a girl known by those who haven't met her as a hero and to those that have as a brutal, murderous psychopath."

The Wanderer's eyes narrowed. The look on her face coupled with her blood red eyes was not lost on Gustavo's men who all looked slightly unnerved. Burke, however, was unfazed.

"No one hears from you for months. You've stayed off the grid. You're almost never seen anymore. One might surmise that you are staying away from civilization. However, I know how to trail people like you."

"There are no people like me, Burke."

"Of course there are. Murderers. Killers. Maniacs."

This time the Wanderer's smile was in her head. She kept her face a carefully controlled mask. She had him. He'd finally underestimated her. She wasn't just another killer as he thought.

"I've followed your trail of corpses throughout the Wasteland. Until two months ago. You disappeared. Where were you?"

The Wanderer's mask cracked. Her eyes widened slightly. How did Burke know? No one knew!

"Did I touch a nerve? Tell me what happened. You were seen boarding a ferry owned by a man known as Tobar. Several weeks later, the ferry returned. No Tobar. Just you. And since then you've been living up to that name of yours and just wandering the Wasteland alone and aimlessly. What happened? Where did that ferry take you?"

The Wanderer's barely contained murderous rage was no act now. Dogmeat was sensing her unease and began to growl. The guards all shuffled forward with their rifles trained on them.

"Easy," Gustavo cautioned.

"Tell me, Wanderer. Or you can die here. Tell me and we can discuss your proposal."

With a snarl the Wanderer answered. "Point Lookout! I was taken to Point Lookout!"

"And?"

With a hard glare she continued. "And I was tortured and attacked and beaten and left for dead. Do I need to go on?"

"None of those you have not experienced before." Burke laughed at the expression on her face. "I've followed your history quite closely, Wanderer. I must say I'm surprised you've made it this long. Most people would have simply bit the proverbial bullet by now. I'll ask one more time. What. Happened?"

The Wanderer was shaking. Point Lookout was not something she enjoyed talking about. Or even thinking about. The marshes and swamps of that hell hole were pure evil. Evil that got in your soul and wore you down. She'd been stranded there for four weeks. Four weeks of barely managed survival. Every moment worse than the last.

Hot tears of rage slid down her cheeks. Her hands were clenching and unclenching in her lap.

"You want to know what happened? I was captured. Then drugged. Then I had a piece of my brain removed. Do you know what that does to a person?"

She paused a moment and looked Burke in the eyes. "Nothing good."

Burke leaned back in satisfaction. "So you want me to hire you, one of the most dangerous people in the Wasteland? A girl often described as just a little unhinged. Someone who just admitted to not being all there anymore. Or am I to believe there were no side effects to your... surgery that I should worry about?"

"None," the Wanderer hissed through gritted teeth. Quiet laughter echoed through her head, but she pushed them back down. The Voices were _not _going to ruin this. Not now.

"Really," he asked doubtfully. "I'm still waiting for an answer to why I should hire you."

"Because Point Lookout taught me something. I don't owe the Wasteland anything. Point Lookout was the best thing to happen to me actually. It woke me up. I live for me. No one else. I do what I want. I get what I want. What I want is to live here while the rest of the Wasteland rots outside the walls, and I will do whatever you want to make that happen."

"Then I believe we have a deal, Wanderer." He held out his hand. His victorious smile was smug.

Her eyes flicked to it and then back to the hand. She slowly took the offered appendage and shook.

"We have a deal."


	4. Negotiations With The Damned

The noon day sun beat down on the back of the Wanderer's neck. She pulled on the collar of her leather armor. The damn thing was sticking in the all the wrong places. At least her raider armor breathed. Well, that was probably because it was... sparse... in its coverings to be honest. However, she had to look professional, so discomfort was the price to pay.

Dogmeat padded back and forth in front of her. He liked walks like this. No urgency. He could run ahead, hunt, check on his mistress, and repeat. The Wanderer laughed as he lunged at a mouse. The mongrel missed and rolled head over heels. He righted himself and stuck his snout down the mouse's escape hole. A plume of dust shout out as he snorted in frustration.

She caught up to the dog and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. With an unhappy yowl he gave up his chase.

"Come on, you. The Warrington Trainyard is right there. Let's see if we can get this over and done with."

The dog began to trot ahead.

"And no attacking," she shouted after him. "Not on sight at least. I want to see if we can at least try to talk this out."

Her usual MO would be to just go in like a force of nature and leave no survivors, but she was trying to start a new life. Might as well give the ghouls the same chance. One chance at least.

As she approached the trainyard she saw a lone ghoul standing atop a train car. He was clad in rags and an old motor cycle helmet, but the rifle he was carrying certainly looked functional. She waited for him to notice her. He was clearly on guard duty, but she could tell it wasn't something he was particularly used to. If this was what Roy Phillips army was made of they'd be slaughtered if they ever made a move on the tower. Even for a competent group Tenpenny Tower would be a challenge. It was well fortified, supplied, and armed, but for an army of untrained individuals it would be suicide to attack. The ghoul finally deigned to look in her direction

"You there! Put your weapons away and come over here. No funny business unless you want to get shot."

Amusing. She wasn't even sure if this ghoul could fire the rifle let alone hit her.

"And if I don't?"

"I won't hurt you if you come here without your weapon drawn. I just want to talk."

"Alright then." The Wanderer slung her Chinese assault rifle and moved to the train car with Dogmeat.

The ghoul had started down the ladder of the train car, but was casting nervous glances at the hound.

"My, he's a big one."

"Yeah," she replied affectionately.

"He's, uh not gonna go for my throat or anything as soon as I get down is he?"

The dog looked from the ghoul to his mistress with his tongue hanging out. The idiotic grin lessened the ghoul's nerves slightly.

"Not unless I tell him to."

And that sent them right back up.

"Jesus, girl. I said I just wanted to talk, didn't I?"

"You'll be fine, I promise. What's your name?"

"Michael Masters. You?"

The Wanderer ignored the question.

"Is Roy Phillips here?"

"Oh no, smoothskin. You don't want to go talk to Roy. He's not exactly a fan of your kind. Right now even more so than usual."

The Wanderer persisted. "I really need to see him." Masters was not convinced.

"Oh, yeah? And why is that?"

"Tenpenny Tower wants you gone. I was hired by Mr. Burke to facilitate that."

Masters looked at her suspiciously. "Figures. He's Tenpenny's adorable lapdog, isn't he? So what's your angle in all this?"

"Well, they want you all dead. I'd like to avoid that if possible. That's why I want to talk to Roy."

"Oh, girly, you don't want to do that. You so much as mention you're working for Tenpenny, Roy'll shoot you immediately. No, no. Kid, you better just take off."

The Wanderer was surprised at the old ghoul. He seemed genuinely concerned for her. She was unused to it.

"Michael, if you don't mind me asking, why are you with Roy? You don't seem like his sort."

"Oh, I don't do I? Well, let me tell you, kid, I've been stomping around with Roy and his gang of misfits. Roy's a no nonsense, take no prisoners kinda guy."

"I'm sensing a 'but'."

"But. He heard about this Tenpenny asshole, and now he's trying to get us in that tower. He's hatching some kind of plan to kill all those bigoted bastards."

"And you disagree?"

"Hell yeah, I disagree! I mean, sure they're a bunch of bastards, but that doesn't mean we kill em all and take their home. If you didn't already know, that's wrong, kiddo. Warrington is fine for us. It's secure, smoothskins leave us alone, we've got supplies, and a place to lay our heads. What more do we really need? We don't need Tenpenny Tower. Heh. Believe it or not, I used to vacation there."

The Wanderer perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah, back before the war. It was one hell of a resort."

"You remember all the way back to before the war?"

The Wanderer was intrigued. She'd never had a conversation like this with a ghoul. Ferals were shot on sight and her old companion, Charon, was anything, but a conversationalist. What Michael Masters had to have seen back then must have been incredible. The ghoul continued reminiscing about his glory days.

"Of course I remember! I wasn't always like this. I was a goddamn scientist. We were doing great things. Amazing things." His wistful tone turned down slightly. "It wasn't always perfect. Sure sacrifices were required. Some people got hurt. But we were making real progress. But then those goddamn bombs dropped."

Masters sighed. "But that's gone now. Today, I make do with what I got, and I'm grateful because of it. If I can ask, kid, how'd you get mixed up with Burke and Tenpenny."

"I've just been wandering for the past while and they hired me," she shrugged. "I took the job because I wanted a change. I was just passing through."

"Just passing through? That's no way to live your life," he schooled. "You need a purpose. A goal."

"I'm hoping this can be my goal."

"To be Tenpenny's hitman? Er, hitwoman?"

The Wanderer firmly shook her head. "I don't want to be like that. Not anymore. Not if I don't have to. That's my goal."

"A goal's the only thing that keeps you from realizing how meaningless this shit-filled existence really is."

The old man inside the withered body of the ghoul gave a tired sigh. The Wanderer was astounded. This old man was just giving her life advice. Not trying to tell her how to live her life (he'd have ended up with a knife in his throat if he had). He was trying to teach her. Let her make her own choices.

"Apathy is the death of the soul," he continued. "It's better to be angry as hell! It keeps things interesting anyway." He sighed again. "If you think you have yourself a goal worth fighting for than by all means fight for it. Well, run along."

Masters motioned for the Wanderer to enter the trainyard.

"What?" The Wanderer was confused. After the lesson he was imparting and telling her that Phillips wasn't going to deal with her, he was still going to let her in?

"You better go talk with Roy. Careful though. Has a bit of temper that one. You watch yourself. Go make your deal if you can, but as a favor for an old man, please try to keep it peaceful."

The Wanderer was touched. And highly uncomfortable because of it. She was unused to anyone showing care or concern for her. Let alone a complete stranger. Michael Masters just stood there waiting for her to move on.

"Thank you, Michael. A lot. For everything you said. I'll- I'll try my best to keep things peaceful."

"That's all I ask." With a smile, Masters watched her go into the trainyard with her dog.

The ghouls of Warrington Station stared at the unusual sight of a human walking through their home. Many had their mouths hanging wide open. It wasn't everyday they saw a human who wasn't either a) trying to kill them or b) staring at them with revulsion. Instead it was just a girl and her dog.

Shouldering through the onlookers was one ghoul who was not stunned by the Wanderer.

Roy Phillips. The ghoul she'd first seen at Tenpenny Tower.

"What the hell is going on!? What are you all standing around fo- who the fuck are you, smoothskin!?"

With her hands raised in peace, the Wanderer approached him.

"Please, Mr. Phillips," she addressed him. "I'm just here to talk."

"What the fuck about?"

With her hand still raised she continued. "I saw you outside of Tenpenny Tower."

"What about it?"

"Let's talk about it. Maybe I can help."

"Like we need your help. We're biding our time, making plans, getting ready. Tenpenny and his elitist wannabes can't keep us out of that tower forever."

Looking around at the woefully under prepared ghouls, the Wanderer raised her eyebrows at him.

"What are you looking at? We can fight," he protested angrily. "We've been fighting since before you were born!"

"I'm sorry, but everyone here just looks tired. Do they even want to fight? Or do they-"

_This isn't working you know._

Phillips looked puzzled at the Wanderer when she stopped. "Or do they what? What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, nothing," the Wanderer said as she shook her head as if she could shake the Voice away.

"Look girl. We got rights. And we'll take them if they aren't given to us."

"I don't think _their _home is your right." She emphasized the fact that Tenpenny Tower wasn't his.

"What and you think it's theirs? They just moved into the damned place and now they're trying to keep us out! Not sure where you come from kid, but out here in the Wasteland, everything's up for grabs. And you only get to keep what you can hold onto. Tenpenny didn't build that tower. He found it. And took it from whoever used to own it. Now we're going to take it from him. We tried playing nice, but they shot at us. Fuck 'em. It's time for them and their bigot ways to die."

_You know what you have to do._

_**You can help the ghouls take the tower!**_

_Or you can just kill them like you're supposed to._

"Just... just shut up," she muttered weakly while she screwed her eyes shut.

Phillips looked stunned. Did the human girl just tell him to shut up?

"What did you say to me?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Look, if you go against Tenpenny Tower, you're going to lose!"

"That's not going to work on me," exclaimed Phillips. "You're one of theirs aren't you? Some sort of ambassador?"

Phillips looked proud at his deduction.

"Actually, I was hired by Mr. Burke to kill you."

Phillips proud grin fell of his face into a scowl. "Is that so? He isn't man enough to do it himself? Sends a girl to do his dirty work. You think you got what it takes?"

"I don't want to kill you!" she protested.

_Oh, yes you do._

"Yeah? Well, you'll have to! We're taking that tower!"

"You will all die if that happens!"

"Oh no we won't. We've got a little surprise for those pricks in the tower. However, I'm feeling merciful. Why don't you go back to Tenpenny and tell them all to run. Maybe they'll listen."

"It doesn't matter what surprise you have! Tenpenny Tower-"

"It does matter," interrupted Phillips. "Not even Tenpenny's guard dogs can fight off a pack of ferals swarming their walls! You see that tunnel over there? It's full of our less socially inclined brothers and sisters."

He pointed to the train tunnel and laughed aloud at her stunned look.

_Oh, this is good. Absolutely priceless._

"I said shut up!"

Phillips smug grin stayed on his face. He thought he was getting to the girl. In his mind his righteous logic was wearing her down.

"Not gonna happen, little girl! We are taking that tower. It's ours! You just don't know it yet."

_Kill him already._

_**Oh, just do it. Get it over with already. We all know you're going to.**_

The Wanderer had her eyes tightly shut and her hands clamped over her ears. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Phillips approached the Wanderer warily. "Jesus, you some kind of crazy person, girl?"

Her eyes shot open. The blood red orbs were filled with fury. She howled at him, "I. Am. Not. CRAZY!"

She tore the knife from her sheathe and slashed Phillips throat where he stood. Blood spurted out and across her face. Phillips gurgled for a few moments before falling to his knees. She kicked his corpse over into the dirt. Someone screamed. The Wanderer didn't hear. She was already pulling a syringe of Psycho from her pocket. She jabbed it into her thigh and pushed the plunger. She moaned as the rush of chemicals flooded her system.

_You can't keep us quiet forever._

_**We'll be waiting**_

But they were already fading. Around her it was chaos. Ghouls were screaming and running. Dogmeat was barking furiously. One ghoul was racing for the locked gate at the entrance to the tunnel. Another was yelling after her to wait, but she wasn't listening. Pulling back the bolt on the door, she was nearly bowled over as a flood of feral ghouls raced out of the darkness.

The Wanderer was still standing with her eyes shut next to the corpse of Roy Phillips. Dogmeat stayed stubbornly at her side. Only barking at those who approached. Even in danger he would obey his mistress's command not to attack. One of the ferals was running directly at them.

Once it reached grabbing distance, it found itself staring down the barrel of a 10mm pistol (not that it knew that). In a split second its brains exploded out the back of its head. The Wanderer stood with smoking pistol raised. She looked at Dogmeat and said one word.

"Kill."

The hound tore off, friendly disposition gone. Now the animal that had managed to stay alive in the Wasteland was in control. And it didn't care whose throat it tore out. Feral or not.

Neither did his mistress for that matter. A ghoul armed with a bat rushed her and found a knife blade in his eye. Two more fell to her gun in a matter of seconds. Her aim was firm and her limbs were steady. She may have been born in a Vault, but she'd been baptized in the Wasteland, and, if anything, the Wanderer knew how to survive in it. And that meant being a killer. It meant being a better killer than anyone else. The ghouls didn't stand a chance.

Another ghoul, this one armed with a pipe, tried to rush her while she was distracted with a feral, but before he could Dogmeat buried his teeth in the ghoul's leg. The ghoul collapsed to the ground and was quickly gasping for air as the Wanderer planted a foot on his throat. He wasn't sure if God was real or if it was just luck, but before she could pull the trigger the feral she'd been wrestling with jumped on her back and sunk its teeth into her shoulder.

"Aaggghhhh!" She flipped the ghoul over her shoulder and sunk her knife into its chest. She felt where the ghoul had bit. Not a lot of blood, but the bone may have been fractured. She looked back at the fallen ghoul who was clutching his leg. Dogmeat was slowly advancing on him with a snarl.

"Dogmeat, heel." The hound retreated with his ears flattened. "Oh, thank God, thank you,"gasped the ghoul.

"Don't thank me." She put the pistol to his forehead. If the ghoul still had tear ducts, he would have been crying. The pistol clicked empty. The ghoul opened his eyes in shock. Again his life had been saved.

"Hm."

The Wanderer holstered her pistol and unslung her rifle.

"Oh, no! Wait! Please! I didn't mean it! I shouldn't have attacked you, I'm sorry I swear!"

The Wanderer just shouldered the rifle and prepared to fire.

"Kid, wait!" She looked up, but didn't lower the rifle.

It was Michael Masters. He'd run from the entrance at the sound of gunfire.

"What are you doing, kid?"

She looked around. There were no ferals left they'd been mowed down quickly enough. Among the dead, however, were other ghouls. The survivors were scattered around hiding. They had no interest in getting involved.

Masters just stared in shock. Not only were there a bunch of bodies on the ground, but the one who did it, while blood soaked, appeared to be mostly unharmed. He couldn't believe it was the same girl he was talking to not fifteen minutes earlier. Except... was it? He looked at her and he just couldn't see it. The person he was talking to had life in her eyes. She had a... not innocence, but there was light there. Not here. Just darkness and death. That's all he saw when he looked at her. And her dog too! He'd been scared of it, yeah, but it had panted and grinned at him when they'd walked up. Now it was some hell-hound. It was like looking at a different person. Like there were two people in that skull. And one of them was not the sort you'd want to run into in a dark alley.

The Wanderer looked back to Masters and like that it was over. "I'm so sorry Michael," she said quietly. The assault rifle was lowered. The ghoul on the ground passed out from relief. The Wanderer hurried past Michael to the exit. He jerked back as she approached him. She paused momentarily.

"I tried, I did. I'm- I couldn't- I'm sorry. If you stay in Warrington, Tenpenny Tower won't give you anymore trouble. She hurried away without a look back.

"Where is she?"

Burke stalked through the hallways of Tenpenny Tower. Gustavo, who he'd been speaking to, hurried along next to him.

"The bathroom, sir. In the barracks. She asked to clean up."

"Clean up?"

"Yes, sir. She said she wanted to be presentable."

Burke harrumphed in irritation. He was already starting to regret this deal. If the damned girl hadn't killed Phillips there was going to be trouble. The two men entered the guard barracks in the back of the building. They approached the restroom. Gustavo hesitantly knocked, but Burke just pushed past him and through the door.

The Wanderer was sitting next to the sink in just a bra and her leather pants with bandages, a spool of thread, and a needle. She was sewing up what looked like a bite mark on her shoulder. Her face and arms were covered in blood, but her wound didn't seem to be bleeding much, so Burke wasn't inclined to believe the blood was hers. On the ground at her feet lay her dog protectively and a half empty bottle of vodka.

"Disinfectant," she said when she caught him looking.

"What happened?"

"Diplomacy failed. I won't make that mistake again."

"Roy Phillips?"

"Dead."

Burke breathed a sigh of relief. "Any troubles?"

"He'd been gathering a feral ghoul army."

Burke's eyes widened. He never thought Phillips was an actual threat. "What?"

"Relax. They're all dead. One of them gave me a good bite though," she said as she continued stitching.

Burke breathed a sigh of relief. An army of ferals? And she'd killed them all with little more than a scratch. Maybe this deal of theirs would pay off after all.

"I'm sorry to hear you were wounded, but you seem fine. I must admit that you performed your duties admirably."

"And our deal, Burke?"

"That's 'Mr. Burke' to my employees. When you're all finished and decent, I'll have Gustavo show you to your suite."

"Thank you, _Mr._ Burke."

"Of course."

With that Burke left the dimly lit bathroom. Gustavo stood uncertainly watching the girl sew herself up, but after a sharp glare from her and a growl from Dogmeat he left the terrifying girl to her work.

In the restroom the Wanderer sewed and smiled.

"We're home, Dogmeat."


	5. Hello, My Future

Luxury wasn't enough to describe what the Wanderer was seeing when Gustavo let her into her new suite. Luxury was a word that common people used to describe what they thought was nice. This was something even better. It was utterly magnificent. The wall paper was fresh and uncracked. A large mattress dominated the room. And not just the mattress. It had a spring box under it and pristine white sheets adorning it. A ornate desk sat in the corner. On one side of the room a door led into the _working_ bathroom (her room had running water!) and a closet that was larger than most rooms she'd slept in. On the other side was a set of glass double doors leading out onto a balcony. Several potted plants sat flowering out on it.

"This is mine?" The Wanderer looked back at Gustavo. Her bewildered expression was slightly offset by the fact she was wasn't wearing a shirt and was still covered in blood. The bandages she'd applied had made putting her leather jacket back on impossible and she'd just given up.

Gustavo just gave a nervous smile and tried to avert his eyes from the girl. He stiffly replied, "Mr. Burke instructed me to set you up in one of our premium suites. Most of our residents don't even live in a room as nice as this."

The Wanderer stood in awe in the center of the room. She'd never been anywhere as nice. She didn't want to touch anything for fear of ruining it.

"The room is supposed to be cleaned every day, but if you are here you can place a door tag on the handle and you won't be interrupted."

"Cleaned?"

"Yes, maintenance and custodial do regular upkeep on the suites."

The Wanderer grinned maliciously and dove onto the bed, making sure as much of her coating of blood and grime was rubbed off on the sheets. With a happy bark Dogmeat joined her. Gustavo stood in the doorway with a confused look on his face. Mr. Burke's employees were rarely what he would call normal types, but this girl beat them all.

"I'll just uh, leave you to it."

The Wanderer didn't even hear him as he left. She was having far too much fun. The sheer wastefulness of ruining the sheets with the knowledge that they'd be replaced was a far to wonderful source of enjoyment. The ridiculous lavishness of it all was just too much. She rolled back and forth with Dogmeat laughing the entire time.

Why hadn't she done this sooner? She been living in caves and shacks for nearly two years and this was here the entire time! She'd denied herself pleasure for too long. But no more. She had a brand new life and damn it she would enjoy it!

The two lay there tangled up with each other and the sheets. Her giggling breathlessly and the dog barking. Soon enough they both ceased their respective movements and lay there looking up at the ceiling. Clouds had been meticulously painted up there. And it wasn't the dirty Wasteland sky either. It was blue skies and white clouds. The Wanderer sighed in contentment.

The peace was momentarily interrupted by a loud growl from the Wanderer's stomach. Dogmeat rolled onto his front and gave an answering yowl to the beast in her belly.

"Oh, knock it off, you goof." She swatted playfully at his snout. "Let's go see where people eat here."

The two of them rose from the sheets leaving brown and red smears in their places. The Wanderer grabbed her jacket and with a wince pulled it up over her injured shoulder. She made a note to see what the medical facilities were like here. While she certainly was capable of it she didn't want to have to stitch and bandage every injury she got.

They raced down the hallway to the elevator. The guard stationed there narrowed his eyes disapprovingly, but wisely chose to say nothing. Gustavo had briefed his men on the Wanderer and very explicitly instructed them to just leave her alone. They slid to a stop in front of the doors. Dogmeat had more trouble on the slick floors and thudded into it with a dull 'bong'. The Wanderer pressed the button and soon enough a small 'ding' announced the elevator and the doors opened. They entered and she selected the ground floor. She relished the dropping feeling in her stomach as they descended. Elevators were a luxury she hadn't experienced since she'd left Vault 101.

When they reached the ground floor, Dogmeat trotted out of the elevator with the Wanderer close behind.

"Over there, Dogmeat. Cafe Beau Monde."

The Wanderer tilted her head to the side in thought. The business had a small counter and kitchen as well as several occupied tables. She knew the words above the entrance meant it was a restaurant from her Vault education, but was apprehensive at eating someplace she wasn't familiar with that had so many people in it. She usually tried to avoid public places and prepared her own meals. She'd been poisoned more than once and without anyone keeping an extra eye out for her, like Butch, Fawkes, or Charon, she was nervous about it.

This is Tenpenny Tower, she thought to herself. I'm not going to be poisoned. Swallowing the remaining nerves she walked in. She'd expected all the eyes to turn to turn on her when she walked in, but everyone seemed too self-involved with their own meals and conversations to notice her. Except the woman behind the counter. She was on her like a hawk.

"Welcome to the Cafe Beau Monde! Gourmet meals and service with a smile! You're new around here. I'm Margaret Primrose. I run the Cafe Beau Monde."

"Um, hi there," said the Wanderer nervously. She was used to traders either asking her what she wanted or what she had. She was unused to a business woman actually trying to charm her.

"And how may I help you today?"

"I'm... not sure."

"Still need a moment? That's fine. Have a seat. I'll get to you in a minute." Margaret gestured to an empty table that the Wanderer moved over to. Dogmeat plopped to the ground next to it.

The Wanderer lowered herself into the chair and looked around at the other occupants. There were two couples, one elderly and one younger, as well as an old man wearing a lab coat. The tower's doctor, perhaps? The older couple were adamantly refusing to speak to each other. The younger two, however, were bickering heatedly.

The Wanderer looked back to Margaret who was approaching her table.

"Decided yet?"

The Wanderer shifted to address the shop owner. "Do you have any Cram, maybe?" she asked uncertainly.

"Cram?" exclaimed Margaret with a look of surprise on her face. "Uh, no. We don't have any Cram."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"Uh, honey, I can tell you're fresh into the tower. You're lucky they even let you in here. I'm surprised they did, dressed as you are."

The Wanderer's eyes narrowed.

"Don't get mad now. Just trying to give you a bit of a hand. We have all sorts of delicacies here, so no Cram. Would you perhaps like a pastry?"

The Wanderer perked up. "You have bread?" All forms of bread were a rarity out in the Wasteland.

"Yes, dearie, we've got muffins, danishes, rolls. All of them are baked and then individually sweetened by hand. Would you like one?"

"I'll have one of each," she answered excitedly. "Do you have anything for my dog?"

Margaret glanced down at the filthy mutt lying on her floor. "I may have some scraps for him," she replied disdainfully.

With that Margaret busied herself preparing the meal. She quickly returned with a plate full of pastries. A blueberry muffin, a danish dripping with jam, and an enormous cinnamon roll filled the plate. She set the dish down in front of the Wanderer's widened eyes and laid a napkin, fork, and knife down next to her.

The Wanderer just savagely attacked the meal in front of her with her hands. If food was found in Wasteland, you ate it before it was taken by something else. You didn't wait. Margaret almost look offended at her actions, but decided it was better to take it as a compliment to her cooking that the dirty girl in her Cafe was so enthusiastically wolfing down the food. She returned once more with a bowl full of surplus meats for the dog who also began attacking the food with equal gusto to the girl.

Margaret stood for another moment waiting for praise, but when she realized it wasn't coming she returned to her kitchen.

The two diners sat in utter disregard for each other as they devoured their meals. Dogmeat finished first, smacking his chops loudly before licking the bowl. The Wanderer was tearing massive chucks off the cinnamon roll and stuffing them in her mouth. She sponged up any of the remaining jam on the plate and ate it too. A little spilled out and was left on her chin. The too sweet food was actually making her slightly sick, but she wasn't going to complain. It was some of the best food she'd ever eaten. She could feel her waistband tightening as she over indulged in the delightful cooking.

"Excuse me, miss."

The Wanderer looked up from her plate. Her cheeks were stuffed full of the food. "Yesh?" she asked.

It was the man who'd been sitting several tables away. His companion was hovering just a few feet behind him. Her demeanor clearly indicated she was not happy about him talking to her.

"I beg your pardon?"

The Wanderer gave a pained swallow, forcing all the food down. "Yes?" she repeated.

"Edgar Wellington the second, at your service." The woman behind him cleared her throat obnoxiously. He shot her a dirty look and continued, "and this is my wife, Millicent."

He paused clearly waiting for the Wanderer to introduce herself. The conversational hint was lost on her.

"Er, yes, well, I saw you and didn't recognize you. I thought I'd introduce myself."

The Wanderer put one of her hands out to shake. Edgar looked at the hand in disgust, noting the sticky food mess all over it.

"There, dear, you've met the little tramp. Now we can leave," muttered Millicent.

"What did you call me?" The Wanderer stared heatedly at Millicent. The woman was startled by the glare and backed away a step.

Obliviously, Edgar continued. "Yes, well, I also thought I'd ask what your business is here in Tenpenny Tower. Mr. Tenpenny doesn't usually tolerate your kind here. Are you one Susan's old friends?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," answered the Wanderer. "I don't know a Susan."

Edgar looked surprised. "You mean, you're not a courtesan?"

The Wanderer stood to her feet, knocking over her chair and stepping on Dogmeat's tail in her haste. Dogmeat shot up and banged his head on the table with a loud 'thwack'. The noise drew all the eyes of the cafe on them.

"I'm no whore," she stated angrily.

"No, er, of course not. I didn't mean to suggest you were, I, er..."

Edgar nervously glanced around. He hadn't wished to draw attention to himself like he was currently. His wife grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

"Come along, you fool. And you! Stay away from my husband," she hissed at the Wanderer.

Gladly," the Wanderer shot back.

The Wellingtons exited the cafe and the Wanderer righted her chair as Dogmeat shot her dirty looks for treading on him.

"I wouldn't put to much thought into the Wellingtons, my dear."

The Wanderer turned to the speaker. It was the elderly, black man in the lab coat.

"I'm Doctor Julius Banfield, I run the Tenpenny Wellness Clinic here. And you are the one I hear we have to thank for dealing with those ghouls."

"Happy to be of assistance, Doc."

"Doctor, please. One doesn't join the medical profession and not expect to be addressed properly."

"My apologies, Doctor. I meant no offense."

"None taken. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't upset by Edgar. The man is hopeless at times and that wife of his is a mean one."

"I got that impression." The Wanderer gave the doctor a slight smile. "Doctor Banfield?"

"Yes?"

"Might I schedule an appointment? I have a small wound from my... dealings... with the ghouls."

"Of course! Absolutely, absolutely. Can't be too careful when ghouls are concerned. Why didn't you ask for me immediately if you were injured?"

"Oh, it's nothing to serious. I stitched it up myself. I'm just looking for a stimpak or antibiotics perhaps."

"I should be able to help you out." He frowned disapprovingly. "However, next time instead of sewing yourself up why not come to me? I'm sure your needle work is excellent, but I should think a professional would be better suited."

"Of course, Doctor. It must be nice to live someplace where your patients can afford to pay you."

Doctor Banfield nodded and sat back in his chair. "In a perfect world, health care would be free... but since you've traveled through the Wastes out there, you know it's not a perfect world. Is it?"

"No, it is not," she affirmed.

"So, yes, it is nice to be paid. I have to pay rent here too, you know. Anyway, I have to get back to work. Stop in anytime for those meds and I, uh, have some discretion. I can tell you have some addiction issues." He gestured at her eyes. "If you ever decide you would like treatment, my door is open."

"Thank you, Doctor Banfield." The Wanderer waved goodbye to the doctor. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." As if, addiction was the price to pay for keeping her mind a solo act.

The doctor exited the cafe, followed shortly by the Wanderer and Dogmeat. They wandered through the lobby and up the stairs to the second story. There was a small boutique for supplies and such as well as a bar. Towards the far end was a store named New Urban Apparel. She bit her lip. While she was used to just wearing a set of clothes as long as she could, she supposed that the residents of Tenpenny were more used to having multiple sets. As a new resident of the tower she thought she should build up a wardrobe as well. She decided to head for the shop, but was held back by a snide voice behind her.

"Hmm. What have we here? A lost little girl? Do you have permission to be in here? If not, you should leave before it gets ugly."

The Wanderer whirled around to see a blonde woman in a pink dress. She was getting real tired of these people being rude to her.

She opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by the woman. "I know your type. Saw you talking to Edgar and Dr. Banfield this morning."

She eyed the Wanderer suspiciously and waited for her to defend herself.

"I'm not lost, I'm not a little girl, and I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, really! Like I'd buy that. I didn't realize that someone in the tower had a raider fetish."

"Wow," the Wanderer said. "You must be Susan. The whore."

The woman was unimpressed. "You can call me whatever you want, but unlike the rest of these fogies I earned my place here. I work for it!"

"Work for it with your legs spread?"

Susan snorted. "I'll earn more with my legs spread than you ever will. I'm not sure who that fearsome, butch, warrior chick look is supposed to impress, but it's not doing you any favors."

The Wanderer's hand strayed towards her hip. A pistol in the face would shut this woman up. However, her pistol (and the rest of her weapons) were left in her room. Gustavo hadn't expressly forbidden her from being armed in the building, but she'd wanted to make a good impression and disarmed. What a mistake that had been. She supposed she could still throttle Susan.

"Well, I suppose Daring might be interested in you," ranted Susan. "He's all about the conquest. I, however, refuse to be his trophy. What about you? Are you letting the old man take you? Ravish you against your will? Is that your thing? Does that get you hot? Having him take control?"

The Wanderer's fists were balled up and shaking as she stared at Susan in rage. The woman was straying into dangerous territory.

"Shut your whore mouth," she managed to get out through gritted teeth.

"Oh my, how fearsome." The woman just wasn't getting it. "Stay away from my business. Take Daring if you want. You can let him tie you up if that's what you do, but stay away from everyone else."

With that Susan turned on her heel and walked away.

Dogmeat stood cowering behind his mistress's legs. He'd seen her like this before and it was never pretty. She was _mad_. Susan had really gotten under her skin. Not many people did that and walked away. Especially after saying things that the Wanderer was particularly sensitive to, like Susan had just done. With an angry huff, she turned and walked in the opposite direction of Susan Lancaster towards the clothing store. She had barely crossed the threshold when a man in a sweater vest stopped her.

"Nuh, uh. You are definitely not trying anything on in my store like that!"

The Wanderer stopped as the man put a finger in her face. Was the man stupid or did he not realize how close she was to murdering someone?

"I'm not letting you get any of your muck on my merchandise. Take a shower, jump in an irradiated lake, I don't care. If you want to shop here, you'll be doing it clean. So, shoo. Scat. Scram."

Dogmeat peered up at his mistress with a mischievous look. As much as dogs hated baths, his mistress hated bathing more. Probably comes from having to take radiation medicine every time she tried to in the Wasteland.

"What are you looking at," she asked the dog. "If I'm getting a bath so are you!" She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him from the store. His feet scrabbled as he tried to back away, but he couldn't get purchase and instead slid along the ground. His efforts were in vain.

Much to his dismay, Dogmeat would be getting a bath.


	6. Shedding Skins

Back in their suite, the Wanderer had the bath tub filling up with hot water. She stripped off her clothes and tossed them onto her bed. Dogmeat sat cowering under the desk.

She looked over at him sternly and motioned towards herself with her pointerfinger. "Here. Now."

The dog slowly got up and walked over to her with his tail between his legs.

"Let's go. Bath time."

The cowering dog led the way into the bathroom. The Wanderer turned off the water and motioned for Dogmeat to get in. He awkwardly hopped into the top. She followed suit, taking a seat on the other end. Despite her dislike for bathing she couldn't help sighing in contentment as she eased her tired body into the hot water.

Perhaps if all baths were like this, they couldn't be that bad. She'd have to rethink her stance on them for sure. She stretched out pushing Dogmeat to the far end of the tub. The dog grudgingly scooted himself over. She took a deep breath and submerged her head under water. She surfaced and ran her hand through her hair. The angel wings were already drooping. The blood, sweat, and dirt that had kept them up was washing out. She sighed and grabbed a bottle of shampoo. Cracking it open, she held it away from her nose. Its scent was over powering. Nothing smelled that good in Wasteland! She put a little in her palm and began massaging her scalp. As it frothed up on her head she sat up and grabbed Dogmeat.

"Your turn."

Squirting more of the shampoo on Dogmeat she began to scrub his fur vigorously. The dog was being anything, but helpful. He kept leaning away from wherever she was scrubbing.

"Sit still. Work with me here."

She started to rinse him off by splashing water up onto his body. She dunked her head again to clean the soap out her hair as well. A bar of soap sat on the edge of the tub. She grabbed it and began scrubbing her body clean. The dirt and marks seemed to melt away due to her ministrations. Well, except a few. The scars remained, and so did the tattoos. She scrubbed down across her left breast. Right over her heart was the mark she'd acquired from the Brotherhood of Steel. The lion marking crossed with the Brotherhood's wings and sword were tattooed there. It was the symbol of the Lyon's Pride. Along her right forearm and bicep was a skull pierced by a knife she'd gotten from the raider band she'd encountered early in her days in the Wasteland. Lastly, was the eight digit string of numbers on the underside of her left wrist. A gift from her time in the Pitt. Her hand paused over that one. She'd tried to find some way to get rid of that one, but the marking was placed in such a way that to remove it would be equal to slitting her own wrists.

She wasn't that desperate to get rid of it. Forgetting the tattoos for the moment, she looked at Dogmeat.

"Alright, you're clean. You can get out now."

Dogmeat didn't need to be told twice. The dog leaped out of the tub and bolted into the main room.

"Dogmeat! Wait," she shouted after him.

Rather ungracefully, the Wanderer slid out of the tub and chased the dog out into the main room, brandishing a towel at his retreating form.

Dogmeat paused in the center of the room and began to shake. Water flew off his long fur across the entire room and all the furniture. The Wanderer shrieked as he sprayed her.

"DOGMEAT! NO!"

The dog looked at her as he finished his shake. He flicked the last water droplets off his tail and stood still. His mistress just pointed angrily at her feet. Slowly and with his head down he walked over. She draped the towel over him and began to dry him off somewhat more aggressively than necessary.

"Someone has to clean that mess up now, bozo."

She pulled the towel tight over his head so all that could be seen was his nose and eyes. She pointed between his eyes causing him to go a little cross-eyed.

"Don't do that again." She bopped his nose and released him. Dogmeat slid out of the towel and stood with his tongue out. He was thrilled to be done with the bath. The Wanderer stood back and laughed at her idiot dog. His fur stood on end all over his body and made him look considerably poofier than she'd ever seen. The dog just cocked his head to the side and sat down. His tail swished behind him back and forth.

"Give me a second, and then we'll see about getting some new clothes." She swiped her underwear from the bed and retreated into the bathroom to change.

Addressing her face in the mirror she frowned in dismay at her hair. It hung loose all ever her head. Walking back into the main room she pulled a piece of twine out of her pants pocket and returned to the mirror. She pulled her hair back into a messy pony tail and tied it with the twine. Good enough for now, she thought to herself. She pulled her pants and jacket on, and headed for the door. She nabbed the door tag for 'please clean' and hung it the handle.

New Urban Apparel was once again empty asides its owner. He was seated in the barber chair, reading a magazine. Upon seeing her he tossed the magazine away and rose to his feet.

"My, my, you're back. So your skin really is that fabulous shade of tan! I thought it was just the dirt."

The Wanderer was once again faced with the fact she didn't know how to deal with a business that actually dealt with its customers instead of just bartering for loot.

"You told me to get clean, so I did."

"And it's a good thing you did! Now we can begin."

"Begin?" she inquired nervously.

"Yes. Begin. Those clothes are atrocious, luckily you came to New Urban Apparel. We can freshen up that look. Upgrade to fabulous!"

"Oh, ok, I-"

The man cut her off. "I'm thinking a full makeover. Wardrobe, hair, the works."

"Alri-"

Again she was cut off. "Relax! You're in Anthony's magic hands now. First things first. Out of those rags! Here."

Anthony thrust a pair of black flannel short shorts in her hand and a singlet.

"Put these on for now. Anything to get you out of bullet pocked leather."

The Wanderer glanced around her uncertainly.

"Not here! Changing room. Over there. When you're done, I'll be at the chair." He pointed to the barber's station.

With the clothes in hand, the Wanderer entered the changing booth. She pulled off her boots, pants, and jackets. She tossed the singlet over her head and shuddered as the soft material caressed her skin. She pulled the shorts on next. Looking in the mirror that Anthony had thoughtfully provided his customers and frowned. The shorts barely covered her ass. She'd have felt equally dressed in just her underwear.

She walked out of the booth, still trying to pull the shorts down somewhat. It was an exercise in futility.

"Quit fidgeting and get over here," snapped Anthony. "Though I do have to say, I would kill for a pair of legs like that. Definitely going to have to pick an outfit that shows those babies off."

The Wanderer sat herself in the chair which Anthony promptly spun around. They looked at each other in the mirror.

"Are you ready to be transformed? Ready to be beautiful?"

"Are you sure?"

"Sure!? Darling, I'm Anthony Ling! I'm fabulous! And I'm going to make you fabulous too! Just you wait."

He tossed a sheet over her shoulders so just her head was showing.

"Do... do you mean it?"

Anthony grasped her shoulders and looked at her eyes in the mirror.

"Oh no. I recognize that tone. Who spurned you, sweetheart?"

"What? Nobody. I-"

"No, that was the tone of someone who thinks she's damaged goods, and let me tell you. With your bod and just the right amount of magic, all the boys will be looking at you. Or girls. Whichever."

The Wanderer was quiet for a few moments refusing to meet Anthony's self-sure grin in the mirror. She broke.

"Really?"

"Yes! But the key to being fabulous is that it comes from within. What you wear is only half the equation. BELIEVE you ARE already fabulous! With my fashion sense and your bottlecaps, there's no limit to what we can do for your image! You can pay, right?"

Oh! Of course," she exclaimed. "I've got lots of caps!"

"Then lets begin!"

Anthony spun her back around and hit a lever on the chair with his foot. The back of the chair dipped and the Wanderer found herself staring at the ceiling. Anthony yanked the twine holding her hair in place out and allowed it to fall back.

"Oh my... did you cut this with a knife?"

"Um... yes?" The Wanderer gave a sheepish shrug in the chair.

"Of course you did. Hmmm. Time for a wash," he decided.

"I just washed my hair!"

"No. What you did was scrape off the surface layer of dust. Time for me to do a deep clean, so sit back, and relax. That's an order."

Anthony turned on the sink and pleasantly warm water cascaded over her hair. He lathered up his hands and dove in. His hands were soft and his ministrations firm. She couldn't help, but close her eyes at the feeling. She'd never had a haircut like this. Butch for all his barber talent was no Anthony Ling. He gently massaged her scalp and cleaned the grime that she'd missed in the bath.

"So, you're Mr. Burke's new fixer?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but she couldn't even get a word in.

"No! Don't answer. Stay still. No moving," he said firmly. "Anyway, what was I saying? Right! You are Tenpenny Tower's new handy woman. Our very own Oddjob. How fabulous. You certainly seem good at it too. Gustavo has been after those ghouls for nearly a month and you swoop in and on day 1 they're gone."

Anthony continued in this vein for a while, but the Wanderer drifted in and out of the conversation. All she could do was give impartial 'mmms' to Anthony while he fussed.

"Alright, up we go!" Anthony pulled the chair back to a sitting position and quickly wrapped a towel around his customer's head. While lightly drying her head off, he explained what he was going to do with her hair.

"So, I can tell you aren't the sort to sport a proper ladies cut. Am I right? Of course I'm right. What you need is something fierce. Something that'll send the wrong people running for the hills, but that can still send the right people running for the sheets. So, here is what we're gonna do."

The entire time he explained, Anthony was clipping away hair on the sides of her head at a furious pace.

"Just you watch! Someone like you needs Wasteland chic, and I'm gonna give it to you."

He kept trimming the sides, but kept the hair on the top of her head at full length. He spun the chair away from the mirror so she couldn't see what he was doing. "No spoilers," he explained. After a few more moments of cutting and snipping he pulled all the hair on top of her head to the right side. She could feel the air through the short hair on the left side.

He stepped back and rested his chin on his hands. "I think we've reached fabulous."

The chair was spun back around so the Wanderer could view herself in the mirror. Her hair was combed over to the right and hung to about her chin. It was still mostly red from when she'd died it, but the sides were cut so short that only black hair from where it had grown out remained. She looked at herself. It was a new style, nowhere near as fierce as her Hell's Angel cut, but it did frame her face and make her feel somewhat more like a woman. Prettier for sure, but not marked as an easy target.

"Additionally," Anthony whispered in her ear conspiratorially, "when you need to put the fear of God in someone you can pull that cut up into quite a fierce Iron Maiden mohawk if you need to. Just use this," he held out some hair gel, "instead of whatever axle grease you were using before. Deal?"

The Wanderer gave Anthony a grin. "Deal."

"Right. Out of the chair! Time to get you a fabulous new wardrobe."

The Wanderer rose and stood next to Anthony. She was actually about an inch taller than the Asian shop owner. She followed him across the store into the separate clothing area of New Urban Apparel. He motioned for her to stand on top of a small stand. She stepped up on it and waited for more instructions. Anthony grabbed a tape measure and notepad.

"Time for measurements, my dear."

He started by measuring her hips to her ankles on both sides, then her waist, her torso, and so on. During this time he kept up his chatter about what he thought her look should be, what life was like in the tower, and all manner of inane topics. The Wanderer, who had never been much of a conversationalist, opted to just listen.

"Alright, arms up." She held her arms out horizontally. He measured from armpit to wrist and shoulder to wrist, and then elbow to wrist.

"Ok, time for the bust. Shirt off."

"What?"

"Shirt off." He snapped his fingers impatiently. "Relax girl, it's just you and I, yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed uncertainly. She pulled the singlet over her head.

"Dear god, no. Where did you get that bra?" Anthony's shocked expression

told her she'd committed some faux pas.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Um... I found it."

"You found it? I'm not even going to comment on how wrong that is. Anyway it needs to come off too."

"What? No!" she exclaimed. "Not gonna happen."

"Look, that bra is about a million sizes too small. I need to measure your puppies so I can properly tailor your outfits as well as get you some underwear that fits. To do that I can't have your cans being crushed in a straightjacket."

The two stood there in a staring contest. Classic immovable object versus unstoppable force. Anthony stood with his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised, while the Wanderer fixed her coldest, killing eyes glare on him. The shop keep was unimpressed.

With a jet of air blown out of her nostrils and an unhappy noise made in her throat, the Wanderer reached behind her and unclipped her bra. Anthony smirked victoriously. He wrapped the tape measure around her breasts and tightened it until he had his measurements. The Wanderer stared at the ceiling and tried not to focus the fact that yet _another_ man she barely knew was touching her. Apparently not even Tenpenny Tower was exempt from that happening to her. At least it was voluntary here.

Anthony finished and handed her the singlet back. "Leave the scavenged bra. That's going in the trash. We'll get you some new ones."

By the end of her shopping adventure the Wanderer was headed back to her suite with Dogmeat and was completely laden down with bags. She was clad in a pair of new jeans and a black singlet. She had several other pairs of pants, shirts, a new jacket, and a whole new set of underwear. Anthony had practically forced a set of black, lacy lingerie on her for, "that special someone." She no intention of ever wearing it. He'd also insisted she buy a pair of sandals and sports shoes too. He'd looked personally offended when she asked what was wrong with her combat boots. The last purchase was a vanity one she'd bought of her own accord. A slinky red dress. She'd never worn a dress before.

She vowed to wear it that night. Eying the Federalist Lounge from the elevator she decided the bar was the perfect environment to break her "fabulous" new look in.

Looking down at Dogmeat, she asked, "Am I pretty, boy?"

Dogmeat barked his confirmation.


	7. Woman In The Red Dress

Holding the new, red dress in her hands, the Wanderer was preparing to leave her room for the Federalist Lounge. She stood in front of a floor to ceiling mirror in the suite's walk-in closet and held the dress up to herself. It was hard to picture herself wearing it. She'd separated all her new clothes into individual piles on the floor and with controlled grace sank down and sat cross legged in front of them.

Dogmeat was laying down at in the hallway snoozing. The dog was acclimating much easier to the easy life than she was. Despite her desire to throw herself into her new existence at Tenpenny Tower, old habits died hard. People were threats and there were only two ways to deal with threats in her mind. Eliminate them or avoid them. As much as she was tempted to just hide out in her room, order room service, and only leave when Burke came to her with an assignment, living like that was no life.

It would be significantly better than what her life had been, but she didn't want to turn into some recluse. She wanted a full, luxurious life. Luxury had been achieved. Now she just had to fill it and that meant going out.

With an exasperated sigh she threw herself onto her back. Why was she so nervous? It was a bar where people went to drink and socialize. Nothing more. She wasn't trying to track some lowlife down, or slum around for information. Just have a nightcap and _maybe_ some pleasant conversation. Was that so hard?

The simple answer was yes. Once upon a time in a Vault, she could socialize and meet people and enjoy herself, but after the Vault things changed. Trust, socialization, and people in general just brought her pain and misery. If she didn't have one hand on her gun at all times then she had made a grave mistake that someone was going to take advantage of. So leaving her room for a fun night out was harder than fighting a deathclaw for her.

Fighting was straight forward. You killed it before it killed you. Didn't matter what 'it' was. The rules of normal social interaction were long forgotten to her.

Damn, why was she such a coward? Put the dress on and go downstairs!

Not even her own mental cajoling was doing it. Her eyes flicked over to the duffel bag of drugs hiding in the shadowed corner. Maybe... No.

No, she was stronger than that. She took the drugs to shut the Voices up. It wasn't like she needed them to function normally. That would make her no worse than some raider junky. But still... just a little Jet to steady her nerves perhaps...

NO!

The Wanderer threw her hands over her eyes in exasperation. Addiction and its struggles were nothing new to her. As soon as she was forced out of the Vault, a vial of Jet had pretty much been shoved in her hands. Over time she'd convinced herself that the drugs were helping her. Hell, she felt invincible when she took Psycho, time slowed to a crawl on Jet, and Buffout had practically allowed her to fight a Super Mutant one on one. But that time had passed.

She'd kicked the habit with a little help. More help than she cared to admit, but she'd never admit that to Butch. The Tunnel Snake had goaded her until she agreed to fist fight him clean. He'd kicked her ass. After that she'd made the effort and quit. Then Point Lookout happened.

In the marshes of that maniac filled hell, she'd relapsed in order to save her life. Then afterward when she'd discovered the lasting damages from Tobar's surgery, she'd discovered that the only way to quiet the brand new whispers in her head were with chems. However, recently the Voices had been getting louder and louder, and the chems had been lasting for shorter and shorter.

Maybe Doctor Banfield had some method or treatment to help her. However, getting treatment meant admitting that something was seriously wrong. The Wanderer had trouble with that. The only person she'd found she could trust was herself. Going to a doctor meant that her own mind wasn't a safe haven any more, and she just didn't think she could take that. So despite the signs being against her, self medication would have to do for now.

With a groan, the Wanderer sat up again and mustered her courage. She grabbed a pair of the new underwear Anthony had sold her and walked into the bathroom with it and the dress. She stepped over Dogmeat and quickly undressed. She pulled the strapless bra on (the dress only had one shoulder strap) and stepped into the dress. She slipped her left arm through the singular hole and pulled the hem down smooth. The dress cut diagonally down across her left thigh and finished at her right knee. As much as she was loathe to admit it, Anthony was right about her legs.

She blew air irritatedly out of her pursed lips to keep her hair out of face. While she liked the new hairstyle (especially since she could gel it up for whenever she left Tenpenny Tower), she was unused to having hair by her face. It kept falling over whichever side of her face she had it pulled to. With a feigned, impartial shrug she turned away from the mirror. She walked back into the closet and grabbed her sandals. Awkwardly hopping from one foot to the other she navigated her toes through the loops.

With one more nervous smoothing of the dress and a longing look at the duffel, the Wanderer turned and walked out into the main room, stepping over Dogmeat from his prime positioning in the way. The dog lifted his head as she passed.

"No, you stay. I'm just having a drink. How hard could that be, right?"

The dog's head thwacked back onto the floor.

The Wanderer put her hand on her hips and gave him a sarcastic, "Thanks for the support."

Grabbing some caps, the Wanderer moved for the door. Dogmeat started to get up, but the Wanderer held her hand up.

"Seriously, you can stay here on this one." The dog sank back down, but looked skeptical. "I'll be fine," she reassured him.

With a parting wave and smile, she left the dog in the suite. This time her walk to the elevator was calm and reserved, but with each step she forced her own feigned confidence into her stride. By the time she rounded the corner to the elevator, her step was controlled with just the right amount of swagger. The guard stationed there barely managed to pick his jaw up and fumble to hit the button for her. As the doors opened, the Wanderer peered through her hair and gave him a predatory smile as she passed.

The guard swallowed nervously as the elevator closed on the woman in the red dress.

The Federalist Lounge sat across from New Urban Apparel. Even though it was barely five in the evening the bar was already hopping. The Wanderer supposed it came from the residents not actually having to do anything, so happy hour could begin whenever they wished. As she passed New Urban Apparel, Anthony flashed her a quick smile and thumbs up at her 'fabulous' look. She kept her pleasure at his approval buttoned up tight. No sense in getting a big head. The man probably just wanted more of her business. Shoving those suspicious thoughts aside, she entered the Lounge.

Completely unlike the Cafe Beau Monde, all eyes turned on her when she walked in, but it wasn't because she looked like a savage like she'd expected. No, this time it was because the Wanderer commanded their attention in a way akin to how people listened to her when she had a combat shotgun in her hands, but now she had the red dress.

Squashing her nerves with an iron resolve, the Wanderer crossed the room to the bar without meeting anyone's gaze while actually surreptitiously evaluating all the patrons. The Wellingtons were present, as were the elderly couple from breakfast. An old man sat at the bar regaling Gustavo with old stories. Next to them was a man so far into his cups he didn't appear to be surfacing any time soon. With a wicked smile she saw Susan Lancaster silently seething at all the attention the 'little girl' was receiving. The Wanderer took no small vindictive pleasure in that.

She sat down at the bar to the left of the old man, keeping her hair between the two of them. Anthony's design was growing on her more and more as she used her hair to form an artificial barrier between her and the other patrons. The robotic bartender trundled up to her, its lights flashing in greeting.

"A very special welcome to you, madam!"

The Wanderer regarded his tinny welcome with disinterest. In her experience talking to computers was a waste of time. They couldn't keep a decent conversation anyway. And if they could then there was something far more sinister behind their intelligence. Something sinister like Dr. Stanislaus Braun, the maniac that had captured her and forced her to enact his twisted fantasies in Vault 112. So no, she wouldn't be talking to the robot any more than necessary.

"Rum and Nuka." She tossed some caps down on the counter.

The Protectron swiped them and busied itself preparing her drink.

"Rum and Nuka, eh? Now there's a drink most people in this tower would consider themselves above ordering."

It was the old man. She turned her head enough to meet his gaze by peering through her hair, but still kept herself mostly closed off.

"Oh, really? And why is that?"

"Because, my dear, they think it's the drink of the people. Which I suppose it is, but there's nothing wrong with that. Not a damn thing. Hell, I'll admit to drinking more than one of them during my travels, but retirement has refined my tastes a bit." He gestured with his glass of whiskey. "Ah, to hell with it. Shakes, I'll have one of what she's having."

"At once, sir!" The robot quickly fixed the drinks and set them down in front of the two bar goers.

"To the people," the old man toasted.

The Wanderer clinked her glass against his, but didn't return the toast. Gustavo was shifting uncomfortably on the old man's other side. She guessed that he was nervous that someone was even talking to her.

"Well, I think I'm going to turn in for the evening."

Oh?

The old man turned back to his forgotten audience. "Really? Well, have a good night, Gustavo. I always enjoy our little chats. Can't find a listener worth a damn here."

Gustavo gave a stiff nod of his head. "Always a pleasure to listen."

The Wanderer smirked. His body language said it wasn't. Apparently, he was just trying to escape the old man, not avert some imagined oncoming disaster brought on by Burke's newest recruit.

Gustavo started for the door as soon as his duty to courtesy was completed.

"Have a nice night, Daring," he called over his shoulder.

The Wanderer blanched. "Daring?"

The old man turned back to her. "Why yes, Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood. Damn glad to meet you! Call me Daring though. Everyone else does."

Daring sat there with a grin on his face, but the Wanderer had closed herself off to him. The barrier created by her hair was lowered again. She wanted nothing to do with this man. No man who enjoyed tying up women for his own sick enjoyment was a friend of hers. This was the man Susan had been taunting her with.

"Uh, my dear, have I done something to offend?"

Her cold shoulder was not lost on Daring. Good. She wanted him to leave her alone. She'd heard about Daring Dashwood's exploits on the radio. Stealing his manservant's girlfriend, frequenting the Blue Destiny Brothel, hounding after King Crag's daughter, dooming Rockopolis, and eventually leaving his manservant to die. Sure the radio broadcasts had put a dramatic and funny spin on the tales, but after hearing Susan's account of the old man, she doubted that the stories were as innocent as they were made out to be.

"Nothing at all, _Daring_," she replied coldly.

While seeming like some old fogie, her mood swing was not lost on Daring.

"Oh, really now," he said doubtfully. "Because it seems to me that you've got a bone to pick, my dear."

"And if I do?"

He looked surprised. "Then you pick it! And you don't stop until everything's cleared up or the other man is dead. Or woman. Or ghoul. Or yao gui. Or deathclaw. Et cetera, et cetera. You can't keep things bottled up, my dear."

Daring looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to divulge the nature of her grudge.

"I've heard of you, Daring Dashwood."

"And may I ask what you've heard?"

"That you're a womanizing whoremonger who enjoys forcing himself on women and girls."

Daring's face hardened. "That's a damn, dirty lie! Well, everything, but the whoremonger and the womanizing. I'll openly admit that in my younger days I was a tad more rambunctious than was proper, but I never, _never, _forced myself on anyone. I have the utmost respect for your gender, my dear."

"Oh? Is that so? You mean you didn't take your friend's girlfriend, bed the daughter of King Crag, or sleep with the Black Widow? GNR broadcasts your stories quite often."

"It's radio drama. Not a documentary," he gently scolded. "But, in answer to your question, guilty on all counts. However, in order, I didn't know she was taken, I was unaware of her identity, and I was seduced. With disastrous results I might add. Damned Black Widow."

The Wanderer wasn't giving up her grudge that easily. "So, I suppose you don't enjoy tying a girl up and having some _fun_ if she's in on it?" she asked scornfully.

"Who hasn't had a little adventure in the bedroom?"

The Wanderer turned to him this time. Her angry glare was no longer hidden behind her hair. The look of rage and fear was not lost on Daring. He recognized it as one part anger, one part memory. He looked down with an ashamed look on his face.

"There goes my big mouth again. Now I really have offended you. I forget sometimes that the adventures I had in the Wasteland were not always happy and the same goes for everyone else as well. I'd like to blame my forgetfullness on my age, but that's just not honest. It's plain carelessness. I am sorry if I have forced you to remember things you'd rather forget. No girl your age should have to deal with things like that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied stiffly, but just a little too quickly.

"Of course not... Say, I'm going to order us another round of these," he lifted his glass. "Why don't you share some of your tales with me. I'd be happy to listen."

She stared suspiciously at the earnest, old explorer. "Fine," she relented. "But you're buying the rest of my drinks for the evening."

With a mad grin, Daring flagged down Shakes. "Anything to apologize to a fellow adventurer!"

He handed her a new drink and raised his. "To past adventures. The good and the bad."

This time the Wanderer returned his toast.

The two of them tossed stories back and forth for the remainder of the evening. Daring would tell her about his travels with Argyle and she'd return with some ludicrous adventure she'd been on with Butch, Charon, Dogmeat. The two were surrounded by empty beverages. Daring had kept his word and put them all on his tab. The Wanderer had realized the old man was no monster as she'd envisioned him. Susan Lancaster had been trying to get under her skin (and succeeded). Daring snorted with contempt at the 'wanton hussy' in his words. The two of them had quickly hit it off as fellow adventurers once her mindset had changed.

Daring was currently snorting into his drink as the Wanderer told him about the super-beings of Canterbury Commons.

"He called himself the Mechanist and she was, oh what was it, oh! The Antagonizer! They were tearing the town up with their ants and robots. The townspeople were too afraid to get in the middle of it."

"So what happened?"

"Well, I was passing through with Butch, Charon, and Dogmeat-"

"Charon was your ghoul friend, yes?" interrupted Daring.

"Yeah, big, tall ghoul. Quiet though. And serious. Anyway, we get to the Commons just as those two are fighting. We were just walking and then all of a sudden we're getting attacked by robots and giant ants! Charon and I just started shooting. It was Butch who noticed the-" the Wanderer stopped as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

It was the drunkard from several seats over. The Wanderer stared at his hand distastefully.

"Hi, there, pretty lady," he slurred. "Name's Michael -hic- Hawthorne."

The Wanderer, as calmly as she could, removed his hand from her bare skin.

With a frown, Daring spoke up. "I wouldn't, Michael. She's not the type you want to mess with."

Hawthorne waved a hand dismissively at him. "I saw her walking in, uh... yesterday! Yeah, yeah, yesterday. She's from the Wasteland -hic- Daring. She needs someone to show her around."

"I really don't think that someone is you. Why don't you have another drink?"

"NO!" he shouted belligerently. "You don't tell me what to do, old man! I tell me what to do! I'm Michael Hawthorne!"

He put his hand back on the Wanderer's shoulder. She snorted with disgust.

"Now, this little lady," Hawthorne smacked the Wanderer's ass, "is going to come with me, so I can show her a good time. Show her how we do things in high society."

"Oh now you've done it," muttered Daring when he saw the Wanderer's face.

The Wanderer slowly stood and removed Hawthorne's hand from her bottom. She handed Hawthorne her drink.

"Here, hold this."

Hawthorne took it with his empty right hand and stood holding his and her drink out in front of him like an idiot.

The Wanderer wound her arm back and slugged him the face as hard as she could (which was quite hard). Hawthorne sailed back and straight through the Wellingtons' table. He crashed through it and lay unmoving on the ground. The food and drinks that had been on the table sailed up and onto the couple sitting there as well as those surrounding. Edgar's suit was soaked through, as well as Millicent's dress. Susan Lancaster was pulling food out of her hair with a horrified expression on her face. The Chengs were shouting, but it was mostly at each other.

"My suit!"

"My dress!"

The Wellingtons shot to their feet in outrage. Millicent strode over to the Wanderer and slapped her across the face.

"How dare you, you filthy little tramp!?"

Daring sat on his stool with barely contained glee. "Uh oh. Those are fighting words, Millicent." He looked at the Wanderer. "Well? What are you waiting for? Join the fight!"

With an irascible smirk at the old man, the Wanderer was only too happy to comply.

She returned Millicent's slap with a back hand of her own. The woman fell back into her husband's arms, who promptly dropped her and rushed the Wanderer. She grabbed his tie as he approached and pulled him towards her. Her forehead met his nose with a crunch. She saw Susan approaching from the side with a broken bottle. The Wanderer jumped and twisted in mid air, kicking her in the stomach.

It was around this time that Gustavo and several guards rushed into the room to see what the commotion was. As they ran past Daring, he stuck his leg out and tripped Gustavo. The security chief fell forward into the mix followed by the rest of his men.

The Wanderer flipped a table into two guards approaching from the front. As Gustavo struggled to get to his feet, he was met with a kick to the face from the Wanderer's sandaled feet. If only she'd been wearing her combat boots, she thought. A guard threw himself on her from behind. She struggled to remove the weight from her back, but without a weapon that wasn't going to happen. And besides, it's not like she was trying to kill anyone. Gustavo, not to be forgotten, wrapped his arms around her legs.

With the aid of three guards, Gustavo managed to restrain the Wanderer. They carried her out between the four of them, held aloft from the ground and quite unable to move. She didn't mind however, she was laughing too hard. The whole situation had proven to be quite hilarious to her.

Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood allowed himself a quiet chuckle before turning back to Shakes.

"My goodness. She's a tough one, isn't she?"

**Back in the Suite**

Burke again found himself called away from his desk by Gustavo. When he was told who was responsible for the disturbance he felt the beginning of a headache coming on. That girl was proving to be far more trouble than he'd expected. He needed her out on assignment and not in the tower as soon as possible. If he gave her missions to occupy her perhaps this ridiculous behavior would cease. He'd had reports of her argument in the Cafe, her brief spat with Susan, and now a bar fight. Mr. Tenpenny would not be pleased if the Wanderer did not soon earn her keep. It was with this thought that Mr. Burke brushed past the two guards standing at attention outside her suite door.

The Wanderer was seated cross-legged on her bed with a glass of water in her hands. Her mutt was laying at the foot of the bed with his eyes firmly fixed on the man Gustavo had stationed in the room. Burke was pleasantly surprised that the man was still alive. He honestly hadn't expected that. Maybe he had underestimated the Wanderer's self-control.

"So I hear you started a fight in the Federalist Lounge."

"Not at all," the Wanderer said with that unnerving smile he so hated. "I didn't start anything."

"Oh really? Mr. Hawthorne is still unconscious in the clinic, Mister and Missus Wellington are traumatized, and Susan Lancaster is all manner of agitated."

The Wanderer's smile widened at that.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?"

"Nothing of consequence," she absentmindedly replied while looking out the window. "I actually thought you'd be quite happy. I didn't kill anyone. In fact no one was really even injured."

"Mr. Hawthorne has a concussion!"

"Oh, he deserves that," she snapped.

Mr. Burke continued, "And you broke Chief Gustavo's jaw."

"And I think his jaw broke my toes (stupid sandals). Give him a stimpak and he'll be fine. All in all I showed enormous restraint I think."

Mr. Burke sighed with frustration. This was the problem with hiring dangerous sociopaths. Even when they were on their best behavior they still caused problems. The Wanderer was no exception. He just had to get her out of the tower.

"I'm having you confined to your suite for the next few days until I can find a suitable assignment for you to go out on."

The Wanderer put on a pouty face. "You're sending me to my room?"

"Yes, I am. Food will be delivered for you. I would appreciate it greatly if you didn't murder anyone in an attempt to leave. It will only be for a few days. Think of it as time to cool off and prepare before you get back to work."

The Wanderer sighed and fell back onto the bed. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room as Burke waited for her verbal confirmation to stay in the room.

"Fine. But I'll want some books to read. And a radio!"

"I'll have them delivered in the morning."

Burke turned to leave. The guard stationed in the room hurried to follow him. They exited and the door clicked shut followed by the clack of the door being bolted from the outside.

Dogmeat hopped up onto the bed next to his mistress and curled up by her side. She scratched his ears and he closed his eyes in contentment. She followed suit and closed hers.

"Totally worth it."


	8. Slice

"Time to wake up."

The curtains were torn open and light filled the room. The Wanderer groaned and rolled over. She pulled one of the pillows over too and used it to cover her face, bringing back the wonderful darkness.

"Gustavo, if you would."

From under her pillow, the Wanderer felt someone grasp the bottom of the bed's sheets and pull. Suddenly, the cool air of the room rushed to greet her skin. Goosebumps broke out along her arms and legs. She was clad in only her underwear. After four days of being locked in her suite, she'd simply given up on dressing herself. What was the point? However, because of her current lack of clothing the cold air was even more chilling than usual. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped an arm around them, but still refused to remove the pillow from her head and acknowledge her guests.

"I'm losing my patience."

The Wanderer groaned at Burke again and somewhat incoherently mumbled, "Come back later. It's too early."

"It's three in the afternoon. I can leave though. That is if you don't want to leave this room ever."

Burke's ploy to get her attention worked and the Wanderer lifted up a corner of the pillow and peered out. Burke, Gustavo, and another guard stood in her suite. Dogmeat sat by the door gnawing on one of the bones left on a meal plate that one of the guard's had brought the day before. Fat lot of good her loyal guard dog had been in warning her of company.

"You have a job for me?" she asked.

"I do. Now, if you would like to get out of bed, get dressed, perhaps we can discuss the mission details over a meal. I'm sure you're hungry."

The Wanderer, suddenly awake, hopped out of bed to her feet in front of Burke.

"No time, Mr. Burke! You said it was 3PM. Daylight is wasting and I personally don't like traveling in the dark. I've got at least four hours of good solid travel time left. I'd like to make use of it."

Burke stared at the girl uncertainly. She'd been comatose barely a minute ago and now she was standing in front of him with her hands jauntily on her hips.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather dress first? Then we can discuss-"

The Wanderer cut him off and deadpanned. "Tell me what the mission is." She didn't care if her clothing (or lack there of) was bothering Burke. As long as he kept his hands and opinions to himself that is.

Burke huffed unhappily. "If you insist. We've had a request from one of our residents-"

"Am I allowed to request things?" she interrupted.

Burke, unfazed by her interruption, simply answered, "Well, seeing as you're the one I would send out to retrieve it there really isn't any point, now is there?"

The Wanderer remained unemotional and simply raised her eyebrows at her employer.

"Anyway," he continued, "what could you possibly want?"

She crossed her arms, the slightest bit offended. "What? You don't think I have petty wants like the rest of these high society morons?"

With his hands raised as a sign of peace, Burke tried to quell her irritation.

"Not what I meant, my dear. You, unlike anyone else in this tower, have the capacity to find and get what you want."

"There's a reason I moved here and it's not for the company. I don't want to have to get things for myself. I want it to be a problem for someone else."

"I will take that under consideration."

She continued to stare at him for a few moments before lowering her arms and muttering an unhappy. "Good."

Burke didn't break eye contact with her. "May I continue?"

She nodded her consent.

"As I was saying. One of our residents has made a request. She is tired of hearing nothing, but Galaxy News Radio and Enclave broadcasts, well she was tired of Enclave broadcasts, but they don't seem to be a problem anymore."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly at her, but the Wanderer refused to acknowledge his impressive familiarity with her exploits.

"Nevertheless," he went on, "She desires something new to be broadcast. That's where you come in."

The Wanderer sat back onto the bed with a hesitant look on her face.

"I'd prefer not to work with Three Dog if at all possible. Despite his regular lauding of me, he and I aren't exactly fans of each other."

"Not to worry. We won't be needing his broadcasting abilities."

The Wanderer was confused. "Then what? My specialties lie more along the lines of shooting people and fetching physical objects. I'm no radio jockey." She crossed her legs and looked to Burke, waiting to see what he expected her to do.

"Precisely, my dear. We know broadcast arts are not among your multitude of abilities. However, we know of someone, a musician, who is exactly the person we're looking for. Someone whose music is suited for the residents of our tower."

The Wanderer perked up. "And just who is this woman?"

Burke gave a slight smile at the girl. This would be his payback for the trouble she'd been causing.

"That information waits for you with one of our agents."

The Wanderer sank further back onto the bed and threw her arms out to the side with a groan.

"Unggghhhh. Why do I have to wait?" she complained.

Burke just continued on and didn't answer her question.

"He'll be waiting for you in Megaton."

"Wonderful," muttered the Wanderer.

"Once you meet him, he'll give you the rest of the mission details and escort you to the target's location. From there you can proceed as you wish."

The Wanderer sat back up again, her mouth a firm line.

"I _do not_ work with anyone. I'm not taking care of one your ears in the Wasteland like some fucking baby sitter!"

"Language, my dear."

"Fuck you."

Burke snorted. "I think the two of you will actually get along quite well. Your contact is a mercenary by the name of Jericho."

The Wanderer lunged to her feet. Burke's assessment of who she'd get along with could not have been further from the truth.

"I'm not working with that scum!" she shouted.

"Yes, you are. He's quite capable and he knows all about the target."

The Wanderer jabbed her finger in Burke's face. "HE'S A FUCKING RAIDER!"

Burke snatched her wrist and pulled her hand out of his face. With his free hand he gestured to the tattoo on her forearm.

"I didn't think you would be so critical of raiders considering your obvious past with them."

He ran a finger from the top of the skull to the bottom of the knife that comprised the raider clan marking.

"If I'm correct, Jericho bares this same mark."

The Wanderer snatched her arm away from him and clamped a hand over the skull. As much as Burke knew about what she'd done as the Lone Wanderer, he knew very little about her life before. And what he didn't know could very well kill him if he wasn't careful.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she hissed at him.

Burke seemed to sense the tense nature of what he'd just brought up and backed up a step. However, he did not back down.

"Regardless, you will work with him. Or at least allow him to guide you to your destination. I'll keep your desire to work alone in mind for the next mission I send you on, but for this one, there will be no exceptions. You are going to be working with Jericho. Now, we'll leave you to prepare for you mission."

Gustavo and the guard filed out, followed by Mr. Burke. Before closing the door he turned back and said, "I needn't remind you, but your continued residency here does depend on the success of this mission, so I would suggest you put your past behind you, as you assured me you had when I hired you. Radio the tower when you have completed your objectives."

With a quiet click the door shut. The Wanderer stood in silence for a moment. Then with a feral shriek she slammed her fist into one of the paintings on the wall. The glass broke and cut her knuckles, but the pain was lost on her. She stalked off into the bathroom to gel up her mohawk and grab a vial of Jet. She'd need to be high to deal with Jericho.

* * *

"Well, well, well. Look who's come wandering back to Megaton. Thought you were leaving for good, girly?"

The Wanderer looked up. Jericho was leaning on the railing above the gate to Megaton, leering down at her and Dogmeat.

"Piss off, Jericho."

Jericho smirked at her. "Look kid, Burke gave me the low down. I'm supposed to escort you up north."

"Did I hear that correctly? _You_ are working for _Burke_?" Sheriff Simms walked out through the gate from the city. Wonderful. It was a who' who of people she hated.

"Yes, Simms," she turned her glare away from Jericho and turned it on the sheriff, "you did hear that correctly."

Simms couldn't hide his disappointment. "Damn, girl. I thought you were better than that."

"Don't you dare get all sanctimonious with me, you dried up, vigilante reject!"

Jericho dropped down next to them and landed on his feet with a thud and a grunt.

"I'd listen to her, Simms. That look in her eyes, you see it? That's the look of someone wanting to kill. Man, do I miss that look. Then again it might be a Jet high too. Can't really tell."

Simms and the Wanderer turned on him. "Shut up!" they both shouted in unison. Jericho just snorted in amusement.

Simms faced the Wanderer again. "I'd heard tell of you going to Tenpenny Tower, but I didn't want to believe it. I mean, I knew you were having problems, but Tenpenny? You don't want to deal with his ilk. They poison you, girl. Turn you into something you're not."

The Wanderer had strategically stopped listening to Simms, but something caught her ear. "Wait a minute. How'd you know I went to Tenpenny Tower? I didn't tell anyone here I was going. Have you had people following me?"

Simms looked uncomfortable. "No. Of course not," he denied.

"Have you had your stupid Regulators following me!?" she asked again, her volume raising.

Simms continued to look uncomfortable, but thankfully, Jericho intervened. Though the grizzled raider wasn't doing it for the sheriff. He was just getting bored with the little spat he was watching. He reached out and grabbed the Wanderer's shoulder.

"Hey, girly. Maybe we should head out."

The Wanderer grabbed his wrist and whirled around, taking his arm with him. She twisted his arm at a most uncomfortable angle. Jericho sank to a knee with a grunt in order to alleviate the pain.

"You _never_ touch me," she growled at him. "Never."

Jericho grit his teeth. "Message... received. Now... you gonna let me up, or break my wrist?"

With one more painful jerk of his arm, the Wanderer released him. Jericho got back to his feet and ruefully massaged the tormented limb. The Wanderer turned back to Simms. Her rage hadn't fully died down yet.

"If I ever see a Regulator duster following me, the one wearing it won't live long enough to report in on where I am."

"You don't mean that."

"Oh yes I do. I swear to God, Simms. I will kill them," she threatened with a menacing look.

And that was the end of it. She turned away from the sheriff and back to Jericho, who was eying her warily.

"Where are we going, Jericho?"

"Lady's name is Agatha Egglebrecht. She lives up past Arefu."

"Did you say Arefu?" another, new voice asked.

"Fuck me!" the Wanderer cried. Was she ever going to get to leave this stupid town?

Jericho laughed at her reaction. "Damn, girly. Calm your tits."

The Wanderer glared at him for a second before punching him in the arm. Hard. Jericho winced, but wisely kept quiet. The Wanderer turned back to the newest interruption. It was none other than Lucy West. She'd met Lucy when she'd first moved into Megaton, but had never talked to the blonde any more than necessary. However, Lucy had always made an effort to be friendly despite the Wanderer's growing dislike of people in general and anyone who spoke to her specifically.

"Yeah, we're going towards Arefu. Can we possibly help you with anything?" she inquired sarcastically.

Lucy frowned. "No need to be rude about it, I just thought-"

Simms put a hand on her shoulder and cut her off. "Better drop it, Lucy. This sure as shit isn't Three Dog's hero of the Wasteland."

The mention of the Wasteland DJ caused the Wanderer to bristle. "You know what? Fuck you, Simms. What do you want, Lucy?"

Simms backed off and Lucy looked at the Wanderer and Jericho in surprise. "Really?"

"Burke ain't paying me to be someone else's errand boy."

"Shut the fuck up, Jericho. No one asked you. This isn't your fucking problem." She looked from Jericho to Lucy and repeated, "What. Do. You. Want."

Lucy looked nervously at the very hostile Wanderer. "Well, my family, my parents and brother, live in Arefu. I haven't heard from them in a long while and I've been getting nervous. I just want to know they're okay."

"Fine. I'll stop in on my way back. But Lucy?" she asked.

"Uh, yes?"

"If you or anyone else ever thinks of asking me for help again, please tell them that the only response they'll get is a swift punch in the face."

"Oh, uh, yeah. I'll, uh, tell... people," she replied nervously.

"Good."

And with that the Wanderer spun on her heel and started away from the gates of Megaton. Dogmeat trotted after her followed quickly enough by Jericho.

The former-raider called over his shoulder, "Have a nice rest of your day, Sheriff Simms!"

He gave a raucous laugh and turned his back on the city.

"Ha, ha. Got to love that prick. Fucker doesn't really get the way things work out here. None of those pussies do."

He was referring to the Regulators, but the Wanderer wasn't going to indulge in his conversation. She'd prefer to keep the taste of bile she associated with talking to him out of her mouth.

"Righto, so Arefu. Agatha. Oh! So anyway, that crazy, old bitch is looking for some sort of violin so she can play her soothing sounds across the airwaves. Kooky ain't it?"

Again the Wanderer did not reply.

"Wow. Not much of a conversationalist are you? Whatever. Sure. Not like you've got anything interesting to say anyway."

This time the Wanderer hissed in irritation. Jericho wore a small, smug grin of victory.

"Ooooooooo! Did I crack your fearsome shell, girly?" he gloated.

The Wanderer stopped and turned to him. "Jericho, if at all possible, CAN YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!?"

Jericho's smile only widened. He pulled a package of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up.

"And just why would I do that?" He blew a plume of smoke directly into her face.

The Wanderer narrowed her eyes in anger and clenched her fists. She was in no mood for Jericho's little pissing match.

"Well, you could shut the hell up or I could have Dogmeat rip out your throat. That'd make talking a bit more difficult."

Jericho glanced at the canine with a practiced eye. "Your mongrel's pretty tough, but do you really think it could take me out?"

The Wanderer's hand hovered by the handle of the sawed-off strapped to her back.

"I could always kill you, if you prefer, that is."

Jericho's smile had disappeared. He took another long drag on the cigarette. Deciding he didn't like his odds he gave a little salute to the Wanderer.

"Fine. I'll keep the chatter to a minimum."

They started walking again in silence, but it wasn't long before Jericho was talking again.

"So how's Tenpenny Tower? Must be clean. You certainly look cleaner. By the way, like the new haricut. It reminds me a bit of Apache's- hurk!"

The Wanderer slammed the heel of her hand into Jericho's throat causing him to gasp and bend over coughing. Before he had time to recover, she kicked him in the shin. Jericho dropped to his knees. The Wanderer then punched him in the face. The old raider sailed backwards and landed in the dirt. Before he could get his bearings and fight back, the Wanderer had knelt on his throat cutting off his air supply. She calmly drew her knife and held it millimeters from the man's left eye.

"If you ever mention that name, or Twitch's, or Scooter's, or Fang's, ever again. I'm going to kill you."

Jericho managed to gasp out, "Crazy bitch!" but other than that didn't say a word.

The Wanderer leaned in and pressed slightly on his eye with the point of his blade. Jericho grit his teeth in pain. She leaned in, her face was twisted up in fury, and shouted at him, "DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?"

Jericho managed to nod as best he could with a knife in his eye. She looked at him impassively as his face began to turn purple. Just as Jericho began to slide from consciousness, she got off his throat. The man began coughing furiously and clapped one hand over his eye and the other over his throat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, girly!?"

"We need to keep moving."

Jericho scrabbled to his feet. "Fuck that! You tell me what the fuck that was about! What's your problem with the Calaveras? They're your fucking group as well as mine!"

He pointed to his forearm and then to hers. They both had the impaled skull tattoo.

The Wanderer lunged towards Jericho, but this time he was ready and jumped back with his fists raised.

"You wanna go, girly? Let's go!"

The Wanderer switched her knife into a more favorable grip, but didn't attack. Her limited self control stayed her hand.

"Ah, fuck!" she screamed in frustration. She slammed the knife into its sheathe and turned her back on Jericho.

"What the fuck happened between you and them? Someone cross you? Get over it, they're a raider gang. That's what they do! That's what we've always done. That's what we did when I joined the Calaveras and that's what they did when I left and that's what they're off doing now I'm sure. So what's your problem?"

The Wanderer kept her back to him. She was hiding the fact that her eyes were tearing up.

"You talk about your time with them like it was the best time of your life. Like you miss it. You talk about it like it was some kind of family for you."

Jericho dropped his guard a little. "Yeah, I miss it. What of it? You don't?" he asked sarcastically. "Don't give me that bullshit. You joined em the same as I did."

"No, I didn't."

Jericho blinked in surprise. "What did you say?"

"I said I didn't join them."

"I don't get it. You've got the mark. That makes you a Calavera. You don't get that mark if you aren't a member."

"Oh, I'm a member!" The Wanderer whirled around, not caring if Jericho saw her cry. "I just didn't join."

She pulled down the glove on her left hand and showed him the tattoo of the numbers on her wrist. Jericho's eyes widened with realization.

"Oh, shit. You were one of their slaves."

"Bingo. I was one of their slaves."

"That doesn't explain the gang tat, girly."

The Wanderer smiled hysterically. "Oh, I'm getting to that. It's the best part. After a long day of raiding and pillaging, the Calaveras all settled in for a night of fun and entertainment."

She paused and looked at Jericho. "I was the entertainment if you couldn't guess," she explained conspiratorially like their conversation was the most normal thing ever.

Jericho was staring at her with his body settled into a protective guard. The girl standing in front of him had more than a few screws lose in his eyes. PTSD only went so far. The look in her eyes was something different.

"Well, after Apache and Scooter had all the _fun _they could handle they passed out drunk. Twitch was already snoring too, but Fang, oh Fang was awake all right. She always had a jealousy issue, do you remember Jericho? And she was jealous of the attention all the men had been giving me that night. So she grabbed a bat and started beating me with it. I think Scooter woke up at some point when I was screaming, but he just rolled over and closed his eyes again. Eventually she got tired of that and passed out herself. But!"

She paused theatrically and looked at Jericho like he was an audience waiting in suspense.

"She forgot to tie me up."

Jericho looked at her in horror.

"I found a knife and slice! No more Fang. Slice! No more Scooter. Slice! No more Apache. Apache made too much noise though. Twitch woke up."

"You... you killed them all," Jericho muttered aghast. It's not like he particularly liked any of them, but they'd been his gang. They watched out for each other.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Jericho," the Wanderer told him. Her voice had a hardened edge to it.

"No, I didn't kill Twitch. Well, not yet anyway, sorry. Spoilers. No, I told him I just wanted to be a raider. Be a Calavera. I just wanted to be like them. So, I told him to get out his tattooing needle and I told him to get to work. Stupid coward could have overpowered me easily! I was a stupid, weak little girl with a knife. No, instead he got out his needle and he went to work."

She held up her arm to show the Calavera raider tattoo. "Guess what happened next?"

Jericho swallowed visibly with a loud gulp. The Wanderer giggled.

"Slice."

* * *

_Right, so. The author here. Really meant to do this last chapter, but I forgot and now I have to do it here with all the suspense and stuff. Any-hoo-ha! Just wanted to ask, NAY! Beg! Yes, beg you all. Please drop a review or a follow or a favorite. It can literally be "I like this." It tells me people are interested and that I should keep going. Additionally, if you have actual feedback please leave that too. I want to know. Or just questions and comments then let me know. So, I know the review box will be right under this, so go ahead and review! PLEASE!_


	9. Blood Begets Blood

The smell of bile permeated the air. The Wanderer had been puking behind a boulder for the past fifteen minutes. She was doubled over coughing and moaning with spittle hanging from her chin. With another heave she cleared the remainder of her stomach, but continued to dry heave for a few more moments.

"Oh god," she moaned miserably. "What did I do?"

Dogmeat stood off to her side, but refused to approach the foul smelling, acidic substance she'd just spewed all over the ground. He was eying his mistress apprehensively. Behind the dog was Jericho's fresh corpse.

The mercenary hadn't stood a chance. Not many people had survived the Wanderer when she had a blade. None survived unscathed. Jericho was not one of the survivors. The former raider hadn't gone down without a fight though. He'd at least made the effort to draw his sidearm to defend himself, but hadn't been quick enough. She'd slit his throat before the pistol cleared leather. His face was now frozen forever in the look of surprise and horror when she'd killed him.

The Wanderer couldn't believed she would just snap like that. The Calaveras had deserved what she'd done to them. Of that she had no doubt. They were rapists and murderers who enjoyed torturing her for their own amusement, but Jericho had left them. He'd tried to reform, while not all together spectacularly, but he'd still made an effort. So why had she gone after him?

_You know why._

_**It's because you're a killer.**_

_Just face it already. This is what you do._

The Wanderer grabbed at her pocket, trying to free the vial of Jet concealed there. She'd brought it with her just in case she didn't make it back to the tower, but she hadn't expected to need it this soon. She frantically tore the zipper down and fumbled with the inhaler.

"Your mother would have been so proud of you, honey."

Her fingers froze in shock. It was _his _voice again. The inhaler slipped through her grasp and shattered on the ground.

"NO!" she howled. Dogmeat jumped backwards in surprise. The canine was unable to comprehend the drama unfolding before him.

The Wanderer sank to her knees above the spoiled Jet. "Oh, no, no, no, no. Why won't you just leave me alone?"

_Whatever are you going to do now?_

Dogmeat took a hesitant step towards her.

_**We won't be silenced again.**_

"WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!?"

The dog looked at her with a wounded look on his face. With his head lowered he turned away from her and slowly walked away back towards Tenpenny Tower.

The Wanderer barely noticed him leave as she cried into the dirt. Why was he haunting her like this? Why? Her mind drew a blank. A blank quickly filled by her ever present Voices.

_Looks like your friend left you._

Yes. Dogmeat had left her. He'd come back though. He always came back to her. No matter how many times she yelled and screamed at him, he always came back.

_**It's time for you to get up.**_

"Why?" she croaked.

_You have work to do. Your new life isn't free. Time to pay the bills._

_**And you have to find that West girl's family**_

Right. She'd promised Lucy she'd find them. And she did still have to find Agatha.

Without Jericho's help.

Her throat caught again. She'd just slaughtered him! What was wrong with her? Why would she do that to him?

_Stop! Don't start thinking like that._

_**No use beating yourself up about it now.**_

Of course. No point now. That made sense. Didn't it?

_Yes._

_**It makes sense.**_

Right. Of course it does. Now then... she had to... what did she have to do?

_**You have to go to Arefu. It's just ahead.**_

She sat up in a daze.

_That's it. Now... GET UP._

The Wanderer stumbled to her feet. She looked past Jericho's body to the horizon. The sun had just begun to set. Silhouetted against it was the town of Arefu. She started to mindlessly walk towards it. The small settlement lay atop a crumbling bridge spanning the Potomac River. She could see that part of the overpass had crumbled forcing all visitors to enter from the south. The people of Arefu probably were thankful for the barrier this provided. To her it just looked like a corner to be stuck in.

She just kept walking towards it mindlessly. The Voices weren't about to start letting her think on her own yet. As she approached the town she could make out sandbags set up at the front in a defensive fortification. A man stood behind it. He was shouting at her, but she wasn't hearing him.

"Hold it right there, or I'll shoot lady! I said stop!"

But still she kept walking.

_Come on, come on. Do it._

_**So close.**_

"Halt!

_Don't stop._

_**Keep moving.**_

The Wanderer was powerless to do otherwise.

The crack of a rifle broke out through the air. The shot skimmed her left bicep. The force of the shot spun her around, but she managed to keep her balance and stay on her feet.

The pain of the bullet wound forced her out the fog clouding her thoughts. The goddamned Voices were trying to kill her now! She wasn't about to let them though. With her good arm she made a move to draw her pistol. Just as the barrel cleared her holster she was stopped.

_**Don't.**_

_Put it back._

Her hand was frozen. She looked at it in fury. It was as if some phantom power had taken control of it. She grit her teeth and tried to raise it, but all the movement that happened was a slight shaking.

_Put. It. Back._

Slowly her hand replaced the pistol at her thigh.

The man who'd shot her was approaching slowly. "Smart move."

The Wanderer glared at him, but didn't go for her gun again. Not that she could. _They'd_ taken care of that. Instead she just shifted her hand to cover the wound on her arm. The man jumped at her motion.

"Whoa, there! No sudden moves! Or... I'll shoot you again! And this time it won't be a warning shot," he warned hurriedly with a shaking voice.

Warning shot? The moron had just missed.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped.

The man's facade broke into a stunned surprise. "Er, excuse me?"

"I said shut up."

The Wanderer swatted his rifle barrel aside and grabbed the scarf hanging around the man's neck. She tore a strip off of it with her teeth and wrapped it around her bleeding bicep. Tying a messy knot and tightening it with her mouth. She tossed the ruined remains of the scarf at the man's feet.

"Hey!" he said indignantly.

She looked at him and the indignation died. "You shot me."

"Er, um, well, yes. Yes, I did. I'm the defender of the town you see-"

"Don't care." She cut him off and brushed past him.

"Name's Evan King," he called after her.

"Still don't care."

Slightly put off, Evan started to follow her.

"Well, uh, is there anything I can help you with?"

The Wanderer turned back to him. "Which house is the West's?" she asked.

"The Wests? You a friend of theirs?"

She crossed her arms impatiently and narrowed her eyes at him. Evan swallowed nervously. The girl he'd just shot scared the hell out him. He stood transfixed by the angry stare of her red eyes.

"House at the far end of town," he said quietly. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Got any chems?"

"Sorry, no. No chems."

The Wanderer sighed with frustration. She really needed chems to get a handle on the Voices. Pain would quiet them, but it couldn't shut them up. They used to just yell at her, but now? Now they were trying to actively kill her! She stared at her hand. The way they'd just taken control of her! Never again! No one controlled her anymore. What she did, she did because she wanted to. Not because someone made her. She'd always made sure of that. She closed her fingers into a fist.

"Fine."

The Wanderer turned away from Evan King and began walking into the town. Evan hurried after her. She could already feel the pain from the gunshot wound starting to subside. She knew as soon as the throbbing stopped then the Voices would return. So she had to work fast.

As she marched towards the West's residence she was disturbed by how eerily quiet the town was. Evan was the only person she'd seen so far. No one else was out in the street and all the buildings had their doors shut and windows shuttered.

"Evan?" she called.

Evan twitched nervously at being addressed by her. "Yeah?"

"Where is everyone?"

"Where I should be. Inside! You too, if you know what's good for you."

The Wanderer stopped walking and spun around to face Evan.

"Why?" she demanded.

"The Family! That's why."

"Who are the Family, Evan? Quit wasting my time!" she asked angrily.

"The Family, they're this bunch of marauders that have been attacking the past week or so. Bunch of crazies is what they are. Or at least I hope so."

"Explain."

"Well, at first they just killed the Brahmin, but they didn't take the bodies. They... drained.. them. Took the blood. Then they started coming after us!"

"Took the blood? Why?"

Evan stared at her in shock. "Why do you think? They're a bunch of vampires!"

The Wanderer snorted in disbelief and dismissed the man. She turned to continue walking to the West's.

"I'm serious!" shouted Evan at her back. "Vampires! They drink blood, they only attack at night, and they're faster and stronger than anything I've seen. I've shot them, but they just keep attacking!"

The Wanderer snorted again. Right. He'd _shot_ them. The man couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, let alone a moving target at night.

"Whatever, Evan."

Evan stopped following her at the house she was guessing belonged to him.

"I'm telling you, miss! They're dangerous. I'm locking up for the night and I recommend you find cover too! If the West's answer, you stay with them. The sun'll be down in a few minutes and after that, they'll be here."

Evan quickly unlocked his door, entered, and slammed it shut. The Wanderer could hear a multitude of locks and bolts being clicked shut. She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous man. The Wasteland was weird, but vampires were a fucking fantasy. Still mentally ridiculing Evan, she found herself in front of the West's house. Like everywhere else in Arefu it was locked up tight. She pounded a gloved fist against the door.

No response.

She banged again and yelled, "Hello? Lucy sent me! Hello?"

Still no response.

_**Ooooo. What now?**_

The Wanderer slapped her hand against the bullet wound eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from her and the silence of the Voices. However, the Voice had a point. What now? She braced her hands against the door frame, holding on tightly. This now. With a mighty heave she planted her booted foot above the door handle and kicked. The door splintered inwards in an explosion of wood.

The Wanderer stumbled back away from the door. The overwhelming stench of decay had rushed out of the entrance and straight into her face. She gagged before peering into the darkness. What little light was left as the sun finally sank behind the Wasteland hills disappeared as it fully set. She clicked on her PipBoy flashlight and covered her nose.

The front room of the house was destroyed. Furniture was over turned and personal belongings were strewn all over the place. Blood too. Lots of it. She bent down and rubbed her finger across it. The stains were dried. Days old. That would explain the stench too. Whatever had died here, had died a while ago.

She stood back up and went into the back room. There she saw what the smell was from. Two corpses lay across the bed. A man and a woman. Mister and Missus West she presumed, but no brother. No Ian. Perhaps Lucy's brother was still alive somewhere. She looked at the bodies again. They looked like they'd been torn into by a wild animal, which would explain the blood and gore spread around the room.

What the hell happened here?

The Wanderer took a quick survey of the room. Same as the front. Furniture destroyed and blood spread around. She took a closer look at the bodies. The bite marks in particular. They were too round to be a dog. She'd seen bite marks with a radius similar to this before. Her hand strayed to her shoulder where under her leather armor was a bite mark almost exactly the same. Just slightly larger. A feral ghoul could have done this, but there was no residual radiation. She moved her PipBoy closer to the corpses. Nothing. No movement on her Geiger counter. That means a ghoul didn't do this. It meant a _human_ did.

She heard a slight rustling outside.

There wasn't any wind.

Someone was outside. Arefu was deserted when she entered the West's house, but now? She listened harder and could faintly hear them.

_Maybe it's the Family._

The Wanderer gave herself another swift punch in the arm, silencing the unwelcome intruder in her thoughts. Switching off her light, she drew her Chinese Assault Rifle and drew the bolt back as quietly as she could. With practiced steps she moved through the darkened house, slowly placing her feet with care to avoid disturbing anything on the ground.

She entered the main room again. The door was still open, but the sun had set fully and she couldn't see into the murky darkness. She kneeled with her rifle trained on the door as she waited for her eyes to adjust. As her eyes focused in the darkness she kept her ears trained for any sound. If only she hadn't scared of Dogmeat. His hearing and smell would have been extremely helpful right about now. She strained her ears further.

Nothing. Nothing, but crickets chirping and the river below. Wait. A board creaked.

Behind her.

How had they gotten in the house without her noticing? She heard a scuffing on the pavement. Two were outside the house now. They were flanking the door. Trying to cut her off. The one in the house with her was trying to approach as quietly as he could. The Wanderer was impressed at how successfully he was doing it. But still. She could hear the shuffling of papers as he approached her from behind. She gave no sign of noticing, but instead waited.

Closer. Closer. She waited for her stalker to make his move. The hair was raised on the back of her neck. She felt the brushing of a hand on her shoulder.

Now!

She threw herself forward into a flip. As her feet whirled above her head and out the door she pulled the trigger and pulled up the barrel of the assault rifle behind her. The bullets splintered into the floor and tracked up right where her attacker's body should be.

But there was no one.

She squashed her shock and landed the flip, quickly translating it into a roll across the concrete of the street. She twisted and brought the rifle back up to her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the two guarding the door as they tore around the corners of the house out of sight.

The Family was here.

"Get up. Go," she whispered to herself. "Come on. Up!"

She rose from her crouch without taking her eyes off the dark door. She turned and sprinted for the edge of town.

She could hear them behind her. Running like a pack of animals after their prey, but she wasn't prey. The Wanderer blind fired her rifle over her shoulder at her pursuers. She didn't hear any cries of pain or bodies hitting the ground.

The edge of the bridge rose in the distance.

"Run faster," she urged herself.

Almost there. A shape stood up from behind the sand bag wall. No! They'd cut her off!

The shape grew in distinction as she approached. It was a man in a long trenchcoat. He had some contraption that looked like a gas tank strapped to his back and a sword at his waist. He raised a shotgun in her direction.

"Get down!" he yelled.

Wait! Was he yelling at her? Not enough time to deliberate.

"Ahhhhh, fuck!" the Wanderer cried and put her fate in the man's hands.

She dropped to her knees and skidded across the cement. The shotgun boomed over her head. She felt the heat of the shot race above her. One of her pursuers let out an angry yowl and she could hear the rest of the scattering.

The man approached her with the shotgun lowered and his hand outstretched.

"What the fuck was that?" she asked as she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"_That_ was the Family," he answered.

The Wanderer nodded. She glanced down and his hands caught her eye. There was blood dried under his finger nails. She sniffed the air like a wild animal. The man reeked of death. He noticed her scenting him. His grip tightened and he didn't release her hand. Before she could fight him, a pistol butt whipped down on the back of her head.

The Wanderer dropped to the ground with her vision dimming. She sagged to the side. As she slipped into unconsciousness she heard her 'savior' say, "take her to Meresti. Tonight we feast!"

_Right-o! Once again, I just ask for a review, or a follow. Anything you'd like to know? Questions? Comments? Feel free to leave them._


	10. Monsters

_Welcome back, readers. How art thou? Good? Good. Welcome to chapter 10! That's some sort of landmark isn't it? Anyway as usual, read, enjoy, review._

* * *

Consciousness was slow in returning to the Wanderer, but return it did. She was lying on a piece of concrete. She could feel cold air blowing on the back of her head which stung. Damn, whoever knocked her out did a real number on her head, she could feel blood beginning to congeal back there. Slowly her eyes opened revealing bright lights. Electric lights, she realized. So she was inside. Everything was still hazy though and she felt like vomiting. Great, _another_ concussion.

_Maybe you should stop getting head injuries then._

Great. _They_ were back too.

_**That does seem to be the source of all your problems. Maybe if you protected your head instead of wearing that hideous haircut you wouldn't have been caught.**_

Now they were making fun of her hair. Wait a minute... caught?

The Family!

The world snapped into focus. The first thing she noticed was her hands. They were handcuffed in front of her.

With an enraged snarl, the Wanderer tried to lunge to her feet, but was yanked back to the ground by the collar she was wearing. It was leashed to the cement by a chain. The chain was barely long enough to allow her to kneel.

Surrounding her were a group of men and women. Seven to be precise. Five men and two women. The man in the trenchcoat with the sword that had tricked her was standing in the center of them all. He was flanked by a blonde woman holding a submachine gun and a bandoleer of grenades and a man in body armor on his other side. A scantily clad red haired girl and a younger, brown haired boy stood to the right. On the left were two men, one wielding an assault rifle and the other a laser pistol. This must be the infamous Family. None looked particularly like family, but they all wore the same expression. One of... hunger.

"Get me out of these chains!"

She was panicking. She hated being tied up. Being _chained_ up was even worse. She gave the chain a few hard pulls to no avail. Shit!

"Now, now, human. I cannot release you in good conscience. You were trying to kill my family only a short while ago."

It was the man in the coat. He must be their leader. It made sense the way they all gravitated around him. He was staring at her with a smirk.

"As soon as I get out of these chains I'm going to do more than try!"

One of the men, the one wearing body armor, laughed. "You're not getting out of those chains, human. I locked you up tight myself. No point in struggling."

The Wanderer narrowed her eyes threateningly at him. The effect was lost due to her current predicament though and the man just snorted.

The leader spoke again. "Please excuse, Robert. It's quite rude to taunt you."

"Oh, don't worry about it," she hissed sarcastically. "I'll show Robert exactly how I feel when I'm ripping his fucking head off!"

One of the younger men was tapping his foot impatiently. His hungry expression was growing more pained by the second.

"Enough of this, Vance. Let's just bleed the human and be done with it."

The leader, Vance, smiled at the young man. "Patience, Alan. You still have much to learn. We will bleed the human soon enough."

"Bleed me? Excuse me! Hello!" shouted the Wanderer from the pedestal she was chained to. "Anyone want to tell me what the fuck is going on? And why do you all keep calling me human?"

"Because you are one," replied Alan.

"No shit." The Wanderer was unamused by the Family's performance so far. "I meant why do you say it like you aren't one?"

"Excellent question," exclaimed Vance. "We are the remnants of society, cast aside like the clean-picked bones of a hunter's feast."

The Wanderer raised her eyebrows. She was about to let loose a derisive snort, but Vance continued before she could.

"I led my flock beneath the sun-baked sands of the Wasteland to keep them safe and teach them my ways."

Beneath the sand? Was she underground? The Wanderer took her eyes of Vance for a moment to look at her surroundings. Fuck! She was underground. It looked like one of the old abandoned metro stations. This would make escaping more difficult. Though that was a future problem. The fucking chains had to be dealt with first.

Her musings were unnoticed by Vance who continued to preach unimpeded. "Men of science would call us cannibals, eaters of human flesh. Society labels us as monsters, demons, and the unclean."

"Men of science would be correct!" she shouted at him angrily.

Vance rolled his eyes at her.

"Ah! Your words illustrate why the hardships persist for my people."

Vance approached her. He ran a hand almost lovingly down the side of her face. Chills ran down her spine. She tried to lunge at him and bite his hand, but her legs were frozen.

_Ah, ah, ahhhh. None of that now._

_**Can't have you upsetting our host.**_

A growl leaked through her clenched teeth. The Voices were controlling her again! No! She wouldn't allow it. She needed chems! She had to find them. So she could shut them out. Frantically, she cast her eyes about the room. She saw her weapons tossed in a pile on the floor. Books, a radio, a few beds, but no fucking chems! Plenty of empty syringes lying on a table, but no actual drugs! She let loose another frustrated growl.

"My, my. You _are_ fearsome, aren't you?"

Vance smiled at her. She felt the heat rise in her face at his condescension.

"I'm going to kill you, you fucking cannibal."

Vance's smile widened which only served to infuriate her more.

"Oh no. Not cannibal anymore. 'Feast not on the flesh; consume only the blood. This is our strength,'" he quoted.

Another member of the Family spoke up. It was the blonde woman who'd been standing next to Vance.

"Bear not the child; welcome only the exile. This is our fate."

Robert spoke, "Feed not for pleasure; partake only to nourish. This is our dignity."

Alan wore a look of pride on his face as he continued, "Seek not the sun's light;embrace only the shadows. This is our refuge."

"Kill not our kindred; slay only the enemy. This is our justice," finished Vance. He looked back to the Wanderer to see if she understood.

She'd only been half paying attention. Instead she'd been violently tugging at the chains. She stopped when she noticed that the Family was looking at her again.

"Oh, are you finished?" she asked acidly.

"Do you understand now?"

"Understand? Oh, yeah. Perfectly. I _understand_ that I've stumbled across the world's first underground insane asylum."

Vance looked at her with disgust. "Your words echo the very reason this place was established."

He looked back to her, but she was frantically fighting with the chains again.

_Stop that._

_**No need to be rude.**_

The Wanderer dropped to her knees, shaking with barely contained fury as the Voices took control of her limbs once more. But they weren't paying careful attention. They'd made a mistake. They'd had her kneel right on the piece of twisted rebar that held the chain in place.

"This place is a refuge! What you see before you is the last bastion of hope for the downtrodden and misunderstood. It is a sanctuary for the oppressed and a beacon of faith for the tyrannized."

"Wow," she teased while trying to surreptitiously shift her weight on the piece of metal. "You're a real humanitarian. Stop fucking pretending. You're a bunch of cannibals!"

Vance grabbed her chin and pulled her face up to look at him. "I don't believe you were _listening_. We aren't cannibals. At least not anymore. Now we've become something else. Do you know what that is?"

She tried to pull her face away from the man, but couldn't. Instead she pushed her left calf hard into the metal spike she was knelt on. She could feel the pressure against her pants grow, but the leather held and didn't puncture.

"Look, Vance. If I said vampires, and you said I was right, we'd both be crazy."

Vance violently wrenched her head to the side in anger and stalked back to the rest of the Family. As he approached the table with the empty syringes he called over his shoulder to her.

"I have shown these people the ways of the vampire. I've provided them shelter, organization, and a sense of belonging. And now... I will show you."

He picked up one of the syringes as the Family looked on adoringly at him. The Wanderer's eyes widened as he approached her with it.

"What-what are you doing? Get away from me! No!"

Vance grabbed her by the throat, but she tore herself out of his grasp. With her manacled hands she tried to grab the needle away from him, but the Voices intervened.

_**Oh, no you don't.**_

_No playing with sharp objects._

Her hands dropped limply in front of her as she pulled her head as far back away from the needle as the chain would allow. As she pulled back she was desperately pushing her leg against the rebar. She had to shut the Voices up. She didn't want to see what these psychos had planned. Vance tutted irritatedly.

"Robert, Justin. If you would."

The Family members approached her. Justin approached and held her arms to her sides. Robert wrapped his arm around her neck and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He pulled her head back so her jugular was bared. As he yanked on her mohawk her body weight was pulled off the jagged metal.

"No, no, no, no!" she cried.

Vance put the needle to her throat as she screamed. Her eyes looked at the syringe as it slowly filled up with red blood. Her blood.

Vance calmly talked to her as he pulled the plunger back.

"While we need blood to survive, not all blood is the same. Some is far better than others and some is not fit for consumption. Let's see which type yours is, shall we?"

With a sharp yank, he pulled the needle from her throat. Robert and Justin released her and she fell to the ground in a heap. Vance tilted his head back and held her blood above his open mouth. With his eyes closed he emptied the syringe and drank her blood.

Nothing for a few moments. The Family stared at Vance, waiting for his verdict. The Wanderer panted on the ground. Slowly the look on Vance's face began to change from quiet concentration to one of distaste. The Family began to stir impatiently. As they all stared at Vance, the Wanderer was pushing down with all her body weight onto the rebar. She grit her teeth as she felt her pants begin to tear on the metal.

Vance's eyes opened. "No one feed from her," he instructed.

"What? No! We have her, Vance! We need to feed," Alan yelled.

Vance turned to the young man with a hard look on his face. "Her blood is tainted. It is diluted with chemicals and other sickness. You will _not_ feed from her."

As Alan protested further, the Wanderer kept pushing onto the rebar. Her skin ripped and blood began to well from her leg, but Justin and Robert were too focused on Vance to see what she was doing. She bit her lips to keep from crying out.

_What are you doing?_

They'd noticed. But it didn't matter. Already it sounded like they were shouting from some far off place.

_**Stop that!**_

With a pained yell she pressed her hands firmly on her calf. The added weight pushed her leg down all the way. The rebar stabbed straight through her leg. Vance and the Family turned to her, but she was already moving.

Leaving her crippled leg on the floor, she reached back and pulled the pistol out of Justin's belt. She shot the chain, the bullet tore right through the links. Before the Family could react, she yanked her leg off the rebar. The metal slid out of her calf with a sickening squelch. Screaming in pain, the Wanderer lurched forward. Robert tackled her from behind, but she twisted around in his grip until they were facing each other. With a savage yell, she bit into his neck. Hot blood sprayed into her mouth, but she was already spitting it out as his arms loosened on her. She dropped to the floor and tried to roll away, but her leg collapsed under her due to the strain. Robert collapsed next to her. He had his hands clamped to his neck, trying to stop the blood spewing from the wound.

The Wanderer put the stolen pistol's barrel on his forehead. Several members of the Family had their weapons raised, but Vance stopped them.

"Wait! She has Robert. Do not fire," he commanded.

"Good," she spat out through teeth gritted against the pain. "I like that. Put your weapons down."

The Family looked from her and then to Vance, waiting for instruction from their leader.

"I SAID PUT THEM DOWN!" she screamed. The hand holding the gun was shaking in agony. Blood was beginning to pool under her leg.

Vance motioned for his clan to put their weapons down. Slowly, they all complied. The Wanderer pointed at the blonde woman.

"You! Help me up!" The woman nervously stepped forward. "Now!"

The woman hurriedly approached her. She quickly pulled the Wanderer to her feet. She threw her manacled hands over the woman's neck and pulled tightly. The chain bit painfully into her throat, eliciting a small gasp.

"Holly!" yelled Vance in alarm.

"Don't move! No one moves or I will snap her fucking neck!"

Vance looked like he was going to approach, but the bloodlust and pain in the Wanderer's eyes held him back.

"Where are the keys to the cuffs? WHERE ARE THEY?!"

Justin rushed to pull the keys out of his pocket. He fumbled and dropped them to the floor.

"Pick them up," she ordered. Justin stooped down and grabbed them. "Bring them here!"

Justin slowly walked towards her. "Hurry up," she snapped. He jumped and quickened his pace. He held the keys out to her. The Wanderer looked at him and then spoke to the woman she was holding hostage.

"Holly, was it?" she hissed into the woman's ear. "Be a dear and unlock my cuffs."

Holly with trembling hands inserted the key into the left manacle and unlocked it. As the chain fell loose and her hands were freed, the Wanderer put the gun to Holly's temple.

Vance was cautiously approaching. "You got what you wanted, now let Holly go."

The Wanderer laughed. "I'll let Holly go, when I'm free and gone. Not sure what time it is, but you'd better hope the sun isn't up, so Holly doesn't burst into flame when we go outside."

"Release her. We'll let you leave."

"Not a fucking chance!"

Vance stopped. The Family was crowded behind him. The red haired girl was checking on Robert on the ground. Vance looked like he was struggling to figure out what to do.

"Ian West," he suddenly said.

The Wanderer shifted her weight onto her good leg. "What was that?"

"Ian West," he repeated. "You were looking for the West's, yes? And you found them."

"Yeah, I found what you did to them."

"That was not us. We do not feed on-"

"Yeah, yeah, no flesh, only blood, blah, blah, blah. Quit stalling! What are you talking about?"

"Ian is here with us."

"You took him like you took me?"

Vance smirked slightly. "You misunderstand. He came of his own accord after he saw what he'd done."

The Wanderer stared at him in confusion. What Ian had done? What was Vance talking about? Or was he just stalling in the hopes that she'd pass out from blood loss? She shifted the gun up slightly and pulled the trigger. The shot caused the Family to cringe, but Holly was still fine.

"Quit wasting my fucking time, Vance! What are you talking about?"

"Do you really not understand why I asked Ian to come here?" he asked.

Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Wait, you don't mean- Ian did that to his parents?"

"Exactly. And I will take you to him as soon as you release Holly."

Vance took a step forward. When the Wanderer didn't move he took another. Then another. He was standing in front of Holly now.

"Let her go and I will take you to Ian."

The Wanderer seemed to be mulling it over. Her eyes flicked from Vance, to the Family, and back again. With her mouth turned down in a scowl she pushed Holly away from her. Holly stumbled past Vance and into the waiting embrace of the Family.

Vance smiled at the Wanderer. "I'm glad we were able to resolve that peacefully.

The Wanderer returned his smile, but hers was full of venom and malice.

"Not exactly."

She held her finger up for Vance to see. Spinning around on it was a grenade pin.

Vance's eyes widened in horror and understanding. He whirled back around screaming Holly's name as the grenade went off. The screams of the Family were short lived as the other grenades on Holly's bandoleer exploded and tore through them. Vance's scream petered out as he stared in horror at the remains of the Family. His look of horror changed to shock as he felt something stab through his chest.

He looked down. It was his own sword. The Wanderer was holding the grip in her hands behind him. She stood on her toes and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"I missed your heart, but I think you're going to die all the same."

With a look of savage glee she pulled the sword back out of his chest cavity. Vance collapsed to the ground. The Wanderer knelt next to his corpse and began cutting strips off his coat with the sword. She quickly bound her leg with it. With that taken care of, she began to admire his sword. She'd always loved swords and this one was of superb craftsmanship. Etched into the blade was the name 'Vampire's Edge'.

"Vampires," she snorted. If they were vampires, they died the same as normal humans. She collected the hand cuff keys and unlocked the remaining manacle. After searching through a few more parts of the Family's corpses she found another pair of keys. To wherever they were keeping Ian, she guessed. He still had to be dealt with. She walked away from the carnage and gathered up her gear.

At the far end of the station was a door. While the remaining doors around had been boarded up, this one looked well used. She limped towards it and tried the handle. It was locked. She fitted the key into the lock.

It fit.

She twisted the door knob and pushed it open. A dirty boy covered in blood lunged out of the door at her with his teeth bared. She stepped to the side and tripped him. The boy flew forward and slid across the floor. He rolled over and tried to get up, but he was stopped by the point of a sword. The Wanderer stood before him holding Vampire's Edge in one hand.

"That- that's Vance's sword," said the boy. His throat was rough and horse.

"I took it from him."

The boy's eyes flicked back down the station. He had heard the explosion. Now he could see the blood and body parts strewn around.

"You killed him," he gasped in shock.

"Are you Ian?"

"You killed him!" he shouted at her.

The Wanderer pressed the sword point against his throat gently. A drop of blood spilled as the sword gave him a slight cut.

"I asked you a question."

The boy stared at her defiantly. "Yeah, I'm Ian."

The Wanderer stared at him dispassionately. She didn't lower the sword. "Your sister sent me."

Ian's eyes widened. "Lucy?"

"She hired me to come find her family."

Ian's eyes dropped to the ground in shame.

"My family..."

"You killed them. Didn't you, Ian?"

Tears started to fall from his eyes.

"Didn't you?" she repeated.

"Yes," he sobbed. "I killed them."

He looked up at her. "I'm a monster."

The Wanderer smiled at him. "That's okay. I'm a monster too."

She pushed the sword forward.


	11. Memories Fade

Burke was waiting for her. She didn't know how he knew she would be there, but he was waiting. She was approaching Tenpenny Tower around five in the afternoon and there he was. Burke was standing in the gateway expectantly. The Wanderer was struck with the sudden mental image of Burke standing at the gates for days just so he could seem all omniscient by personally greeting her. One of the guards probably tipped him off.

"Welcome back. I'll admit I was a tad nervous when your dog returned several days ago," he said with feigned concern. "But much to my pleasant surprise the airwaves were suddenly filled with the soothing sounds of violin. Congratulations."

"Thanks," she grunted.

She pushed past him to go up to her room. She wanted nothing more than a shower and a nap. Maybe a meal later, but first a shower.

"No snags?"

"The violin was in Vault 92."

Burke shrugged his shoulders and looked at her expectantly. His knowledge of the Wasteland, while impressive, wasn't perfect. The Vaults were outside of his expertise.

"It was full of mirelurks," she explained.

Burke just smiled his condescending smile contentedly.

"Nothing one such as yourself can't handle."

She narrowed her eyes. The man always managed to get under her skin.

"Lots of mirelurks," she elaborated. Her ears were still ringing from the mirelurk kings' stupid sonic screeching.

She didn't actually expected her words to have any effect on Burke, which they hadn't, but she still hoped for some acknowledgment. The man just nodded like she was talking about the weather. Not that she had any _real_ difficulties in the Vault. The real difficulties had all happened before she'd gone to Vault 92.

She'd considered returning to the tower after she had killed... after what had happened at Meresti, but instead luck had been on her side for the first time in months. She'd stumbled upon a hidden cache of Jet and Buffout. Using the fortuitously discovered drugs she'd managed to get a handle on everything running through her mind.

At least that's what the Wanderer told herself. In actuality she'd been about to have a nervous break and got high as a means to blank her mind out from everything that had happened throughout the day. Instead of processing what she'd done to Jericho, the Family, and Ian West, she threw herself into her mission. She tracked down Agatha, tracked down Vault 92, and tracked down the Soil Stradivarius.

Now it was time for rest and relaxation. Maybe drown her sorrows at the bar or eat herself into oblivion at the Cafe Beau Monde. What she didn't want to be doing was talking to Burke.

"You're bleeding."

The Wanderer blinked. She hadn't been paying attention to whatever Burke had been saying.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He pointed at her leg. "You're bleeding. Perhaps a visit to the medical clinic is in order?"

"I'll be fine," she said dismissively. Doctors asked questions. Questions meant answers, or at least lies. She was in no mood to be thinking about anything.

"Are you sure? The bandage seems to be suffused with blood. A lot of blood."

"I said I'll be fine," she snapped at him. He held his hands up in a gesture of peace.

"Of course. I was merely concerned about one of the tower's most valuable resources."

His flattery fell on dead ears. "Well, don't be," was the only response he received as the Wanderer turned her back on him and stalked off to the elevator, trying desperately to hide her limp. As she reached the elevator she was stopped by the sound of happy barking and claws clacking on marble floors.

With a hurried, "Dogmeat! HEEL!" the Wanderer stopped her loyal hound from plowing into her. Instead the dog skidded to a halt in front of her dramatically. The Wanderer noticed everyone in the lobby looking at them.

"Come on, you," she whispered to him and they walked into the elevator. As soon as the doors shut she collapsed to her knees and immediately buried her face in Dogmeat's neck. She breathed in the familiar and entirely unpleasant scent of her dog.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I didn't mean any of it."

Dogmeat pulled away from her embrace and gave her face a big lick. He'd already forgotten her outburst. Her being back was enough to make him happy again. The lick was enough to bring a genuine smile to her face as well. With a ding, the elevator stopped at her floor. She shakily got off her knees and back to her feet. Her left leg was definitely struggling to function normally. After being impaled and then walked and ran on for two days, the tortured limb was finally telling her enough was enough. The guard stationed at the door gave her a nervous look. His first instinct was to ask if she was alright, but it was the Wanderer. He wanted to live and talking to her had a track record of shortening someone's life span.

But still... she _did_ look like she was about to collapse.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked.

She waved him off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. It's just-"

The Wanderer put some pressure on her leg and a wave of queasiness swept over her. She clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting and planted the other one against the wall. With a muffled groan she slowly slid down to the floor.

"Um, I'll, uh, go get Dr. Banfield!"

She shook her head severely at him.

"No doctors," she mumbled. Black was starting to creep in around the edges of her vision. "Just- just help... me to my... room."

The guard slung his rifle and grabbed her under her armpits. With a heave he pulled her to her feet. She wrapped one of her arms around his neck. Acting as a human crutch, he helped the Wanderer hobble to her room. She unlocked the door and he helped her inside. She pointed at the bed and he half dragged her to it. With another groan she sank down onto the soft sheets and laid back. 

"Are you sure I shouldn't get the doctor?"

With her eyes shut and her breathing heavy she answered as firmly as she could. "_No doctors_. I just... have to... catch my breath."

"Your leg looks pretty messed-"

"Get out."

The guard looked like he was going to keep arguing, but through better of it. With a curt nod, he backed out of the room and shut the door. Dogmeat watched him go before clambering up onto the bed to lay next to the Wanderer.

They lay like that for a while in silence until the Wanderer fell asleep. Or passed out from blood loss. The two were at times equivocal in her book. She was woken up by an insistent rapping on the door. She stayed quiet hoping it would just go away, but the knocking continued.

With a frustrated groan, she yelled, "Go away!"

Muffled slightly by the door came a reply. "It's Dr. Banfield. I'm coming in."

"I'm indecent," she yelled back to him, but he called her bluff and came in anyway.

The doctor was staring at her with disapproval etched into the frown lines crossing his forehead. Seeing her flat on her back just caused him to deepen his frown. The guard had gotten the doctor after all. How brave of him.

"I thought we had a discussion about this. Instead of you doing a hack job patching yourself up, you'd come to me and let a professional deal with it. I'm told you injured your leg. Correct?"

She weakly motioned at her bandaged calf.

"Christ, girl! Is that blood all yours?" She nodded. "Damn it! What the hell is wrong with you? Now, I know that medical care isn't exactly a premium in the Wasteland, but you could have at least gotten someone to look at it!"

He hurriedly walked over to the bed. He told Dogmeat to get off so he'd have some space to work, but the hound just looked at him. With an exasperated sigh, the Wanderer planted her hand on his hindquarters and pushed him off the bed. He unceremoniously slid off and thudded to the ground. She then tried to sit up and tell the doctor she was fine, but he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder and firmly pushed her back down.

"Would you stop moving? You're only going to make things worse. Now. Let's take a look here." He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a pair of scissors. With care, he cut away the strips of cloth that the Wanderer had tied around her calf. He pulled it away and dabbed at the blood welling up with some gauze.

"What in the hell happened? This hole goes all the way through your calf!"

"I had to get out of some chains," she mumbled.

"You did this to yourself?" he asked incredulously. His look of shock changed to scolding. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He jabbed a stimpak into her leg before pulling her boot off and rolling her pant leg up. He took a roll of sterile bandages and began to carefully wrap the wound.

"Any other injuries?" he asked, only half serious. He didn't expect the Wanderer to be _more_ hurt.

"I got shot," she slurred. The stimpak was making her just the slightest bit incoherent.

Dr. Banfield put his hands on his hips. "You got shot. Why am I not surprised? Where?"

"Shoulder."

"Unbelievable," he muttered. He pulled the cloth she'd tied on her bicep away to look at the wound. "Oh, you just got grazed, you big baby."

As he examined her arm, his eyes were drawn to the bruising and hole in her neck. "What happened here?" he asked quietly to himself. His finger strayed towards her neck to see what could have caused it. With a sudden moment of lucidity, the Wanderer clamped her hand over the wound. She scooted back on the bed away from the doctor and sat up.

"It's nothing," she said quickly. "Nothing."

The doctor wasn't sold. "Doesn't look like nothing."

"I said it was nothing," she said slightly louder. "Thank you for the assistance doctor, you can leave now."

Dr. Banfield stood back indignantly. "Bullshit I can leave. You're my patient. Quit acting like a child and let me examine you. That mark looks bad. You might have some serious internal bleeding."

"I'm _fine_," she stressed with rising volume.

"Oh? Really? Which one of us is the medical professional? And which one us is the teenage girl?"

"Get. Out."

"I have to deal with the other residents in this tower. Compared to them, you're act is nothing. Take your hand away and let me see."

She shook her head with her hand still firmly covering up where Vance had taken her blood. The doctor might think he knew what he was dealing with, but he was woefully unprepared if he thought she was going to cave. During her tenure in the Wasteland she'd developed a very deep dislike of medicine in general and doctors in particular. It wasn't any of their faults particularly, but nonetheless she only dealt with them to buy supplies so she could self-operate. Whenever she'd been unable to do that it was usually because she wasn't conscious and Butch or Charon had dragged her comatose body to the nearest settlement. Every time she'd woken up in sterile conditions, she'd almost immediately freaked out. Too many bad memories about... _him_.

"Listen, I don't care about whatever petty concerns you have. You could die if I don't look at that," Banfield insisted.

The Wanderer was having none of that. "Doctor, I promise you I will be fine. Now, please, get out of my room."

The doctor crossed his arms stubbornly and refused to budge.

"Look, I can tell you don't like doctors, but whatever one did to you doesn't matter. I need to treat you."

Dr. Banfield was unknowingly getting closer to the truth than he would ever realize. And the Wanderer didn't like that. It was time for the good doctor to leave. She pulled her pistol out and pointed it directly at him.

"I'm done asking, doctor."

He looked at her for a few moments like she was bluffing, but when she pulled the hammer back he got the message. With a disgruntled, "fucking brat," he grabbed his medical case and turned on his heel. He slammed the door on his way out. With a sigh, the Wanderer let her arm drop back to the bed and she released the pistol. Dogmeat insistently poked her in the arm with his nose. His way of asking to get back on the bed. However, he'd managed to poke her right where Evan King's shot had grazed her.

Her voice unemotional, the Wanderer just blankly said, "Ow," before allowing her dog back up with her. Unwanted memories were flooding into her head. This is why she didn't like seeing doctors. They made her remember. If anything she wanted to forget.

Silently, she got to her feet and made her way to the closet and over to her drug supply. She grabbed a container of Jet and leaned back against the wall. A tear slid down her face. She didn't want these memories anymore. She didn't want to drown in the past.

"Just let me forget," she whispered quietly. Depressing the trigger on the Jet container, she breathed in the chemical concoction and slid to the floor where her eyes slowly drifted shut.


	12. Blackout

_What up readers? May I say you're all looking fabulous today? I broke 300 views! Isn't that exciting? I certainly find it to be. Anyway, onwards with the story. Enjoy._

* * *

It wasn't the hunger pangs in her stomach that woke her up. Or even the fact that she had her face lying in a small puddle of vomit. No, it was the incessant itching of her leg. That obnoxious and unyielding itching dragged her unceremoniously out of unconsciousness. Guess her leg was healing up fine. With a slow blink of her eyes, the Wanderer fully woke up. The first thing she'd noticed was the smell. With a cough she sat up and wiped her arm across her mouth, clearing away the puke that clung to her face. With a pitiful mewl, she crawled out of the closet and into the bathroom where she turned on the bathtub.

Wow, she must have gone on one hell of a bender.

How very classy of her.

Last night was a drug addled blur. The past few days _had_ sucked, but still. Here she thought she had some modicum of self control and that she was progressing as a person. A humorless and bitter laugh mixed with the sour taste of vomit in her mouth as she slowly recalled more and more of the past few days. Mentally stable people who were progressing as a person didn't participate in wholesale slaughter. Whatever. This hangover was killing her. She could berate herself later.

With a heave, the Wanderer pulled herself fully clothed into the bathtub. Water splashed over the edge onto the floor, but she was beyond caring. She sank below the water and let out a frustrated stream of bubbles. Why did all the bad things have to happen to her? Sure, everyone in the Wasteland had a shitty life more or less, but seriously? It was like the universe was out to get her. Then again, it was only her that was being tormented. Everyone she knew and liked was dead and gone, so collateral damage wasn't a problem. She had that going for her.

Damn. Her life had come to the point that her having nothing was good news. Well, she'd never again have to feel like Lucy West when she found out her family was dead. Right, Lucy. She still had to tell Lucy. How does one breach that subject?

Oh, hey, yeah. I went to Arefu. Your brother lost his fucking mind and devoured your parents, so I stuck a sword through his throat.

That would go over real well. How could it not?

The bubbles slowly ran petered off as she ran out of breath. She could feel the tightening in her lungs as her body cried out for air. So what? She could just stay under the water. Supposedly, drowning was peaceful. Peace would be nice, wouldn't it? It's not like anyone would miss her?

But then everything she'd ever done would have been for naught. All the pain and sacrifice would be meaningless. She'd sigh sadly if she had any air left. With a gasp she broke the surface and lay her head against the wall as her mohawk collapsed down over her eyes. Pushing the hair out of her face would have taken effort, so it remained where it was.

The lull in the pity party she was throwing herself was rudely interrupted by her stomach. A rumbling growl breached the water and the Wanderer could feel her stomach curling up in hunger. Fuck you, stomach, she thought. How long ago had it been since she'd eaten? Three days? No, now it was four. Weight Wasters! The brand new Wasteland diet guaranteed to have your ribs showing by swimsuit season. She gave another humorless chuckle before slowly pulling herself out of the tub.

The Wanderer put her wounded leg down tentatively on the wet tile of the bathroom. It held her body weight. Good news, she could walk unaided again. She stepped out fully from the tub and tried to take a full step out of the bathroom, but the water she'd already splashed on the floor coupled with the water her sopping wet clothes were dripping everywhere just caused her to slip and fall on her ass with a curse and a groan.

"Ah, fuck me..."

Dogmeat stuck his head into the open bathroom door to see what all the noise was about.

"Not you! You can go away!"

The dog just took another step into the bathroom until the Wanderer began flicking water at him. He jumped back with an annoyed look on his face and stalked back into the bedroom.

"Yeah, that's right! Run away!"

The dog didn't respond and the Wanderer was left looking at his retreating back. She snorted at him and laid back in the puddle she'd been forming. Her stomach, not to be forgotten, grumbled again. Oh, right. Margaret Primrose probably wouldn't allow her into her cafe with a trail of water behind her. Guess a change of clothes was in order. Without getting to her feet to undress like a normal person, she instead shrugged out of her leather armor on the floor. She managed to get the jacket off without incident, but when pulling her pants off she ended up rolling over backwards and banging her head on the sink.

"Fuck!"

With a scowl she flung the armored pants out the door. They landed a few feet in front of Dogmeat with a wet plop. The dog's surprise barely registered at the flung garment. Back in the bathroom, the Wanderer pulled herself to her feet with one hand supporting her on the sink and the other rubbing the back of her head.

"Ouch," she muttered.

She was about to turn away and walk out, but she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink.

"Oh. Wow. Real wet t-shirt contest sort of deal we've got going on," she muttered to herself.

Her underwear (white) had ceased to be functional in protecting her modesty due to all the water. With a few choice curse words, the Wanderer walked back into the closet she'd started in. Gingerly stepping over the pool of vomit on the floor, she grabbed some clean underwear as well as a pair of jeans and singlet. She gathered the clothes under one arm and ran her free hand through her hair in an effort to both dry it off somewhat and pull it all to one side. She wanted to maintain the facade that she cared about her own appearance. Well, at times she cared about her appearance. She enjoyed looking like a badass when she was out adventuring, but back here at the tower it was more of a defense mechanism. She wouldn't have to talk to anyone if no one came up to her in order to tell her she looked like a vagabond.

"Dogmeat," she called. "We're going to the cafe. I'm starved."

Dogmeat translated his agreement with an enthusiastic bark. She dressed and exited the closet. Dogmeat was seated by the door waiting expectantly. The Wanderer walked over to him. She opened the door a crack and Dogmeat squeezed through. She held back a second, waiting. Dogmeat gave a quick bark. It was his signal for all clear. She stepped through the door giving him a grin and a pat on the head. She couldn't very well let her loyal guard dog get sloppy living here in Tenpenny Tower. The dog was already putting on a bit of a paunch.

Well, maybe that was a bit harsh. Perhaps the correct description would be that the dog had a healthy and normal body weight now instead of being borderline starved. Actually, the Wanderer herself looked better fed than she had in a long time. Her cheeks had lost the pinched and gaunt look they'd picked up soon after leaving the Vault. Instead of skin, bone, and muscle, she had a little extra cushioning now. Well, to her eye at any rate.

Dogmeat and the Wanderer made their way down to the cafe quickly enough and took a seat in the back. After her... altercation... in the Federalist Lounge the residents of Tenpenny Tower were more than happy to leave her alone. Which was exactly how she liked it. Margaret, after stopping at a few tables to check on her customers, made her way over to the Wanderer.

"Just the usual, dear?"

The Wanderer nodded. Every time she'd come here for a meal she had just taken Margaret's recommendation and a bowl of scraps for Dogmeat. It was a winning formula in her book for several reasons. Most of all that the Cafe Beau Monde didn't actually have a menu! Margaret just expected her customers to know what food was appropriate to order. The Wanderer was not one of these customers. After the first time she'd tried to order Cram, she had simply let Margaret choose for her.

Her eyes widened as Margaret returned with her meal. The cafe owner approached with a mammoth sandwich the size of the Wanderer's arm.

"Oh, boy..."

Margaret gave a small smile. "Enjoy."

With a nod of her head and stunned look on her face, the Wanderer pulled the plate towards herself. Dogmeat had already tucked into his meal, but the Wanderer was preparing herself. She savored the smell and sight of the sandwich. Not because she was intimidated, oh no! Because she was prepared to devour this sandwich. And devour it she did.

Barely pausing for breaths, she shoved bit by bit of the delicious food into her mouth. Salami, turkey, lettuce, tomato, peppers, cheese. Mmmmmmm. It was so good! She could feel herself getting full with only a third of the sandwich down. Didn't matter. Food was food. And food got eaten. Didn't matter how much she had to eat.

"You know, binge eating is technically an eating disorder."

Her cheeks stuffed, the Wanderer looked up to see Dr. Banfield. However, she didn't say anything just kept eating.

"Really? Nothing?"

"Nothing about what?" she managed to get out through a mouthful.

Dr. Banfield pulled the chair opposite her out and sat down.

"Maybe about you pulling a gun on me when I tried to do my job!"

The Wanderer jerked back in surprise, accidentally inhaling a bite of sandwich.

"I did what now?" she gasped.

Dr. Banfield looked at her skeptically. "What? Don't remember? I was trying to treat your injuries which you made quite difficult I might add and then when I tried to take a look at that neck wound you threatened me! With a gun!"

The Wanderer's face crumpled into confused disbelief. She'd woken up this morning with a hell of a headache and only a hazy idea of what had happened the day before, but she had no recollection of this. She didn't even remember Dr. Banfield stopping by.

Her inner turmoil was not lost on the doctor.

"You don't remember," he said suspiciously. It wasn't a question.

The Wanderer just stammered uncertainly, but the doctor cut her off by reaching across the table and grabbing her chin.

"Hey! Let go!"

The Wanderer tried to jerk away, but the doctor held firm and peered into her eyes.

"Your eyes tell the tale. I knew you were an addict, no one with your lovely, crimson eye color couldn't be, but this is ridiculous. Just as I thought." Dr. Banfield sat back and stared her down. "Your eyes are like pinpricks. It's been a while since I've seen someone this out of their mind on chems."

"Hey!" she exclaimed indignantly. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're having blackouts now. Threatening people. You're a damn menace!"

The Wanderer froze at his words. They hit her like a slap to the face. The last time someone told her she was a menace was back in Vault 101. And that had not ended well.

"I'm afraid I need to inform your esteemed employer. I have to tell Mr. Burke about this. You're not fit for whatever duty it is you do. Nor would I say you're fit to be around people at all. You're dangerous."

The doctor pushed back from the table and turned to walk out the door.

"Whoa! Wait a minute! Get back here!"

The Wanderer jumped up and hurried after Dr. Banfield, her sandwich sitting on the table unfinished and forgotten. She strode after him with Dogmeat following on her heals. She called after Dr. Banfield again, but he just ignored her.

"Don't you ignore me, Banfield! Hey! Fucker! I'm talking to you!"

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him around.

"What? Going to threaten me again? You're a danger to yourself and those around you. It's my responsibility to make sure you don't endanger lives in the tower."

He tore his arm away from her and continued towards Burke's office.

"Wait, you're trying to get me evicted? Fuck that! And fuck you too!"

She grabbed him again, but this time was by the collar. Banfield jerked to a halt. She spun him around and grabbed his lab coat's lapels in her fists. With a harsh push she slammed the older doctor into the wall.

"After everything I've been through, some _doctor_ is not going to get me kicked out of here," she hissed at him.

"You're out of control!" he shouted.

"You want to see out of control? I'll show you out of control!" she shouted back.

"I really hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Dr. Banfield and the Wanderer whipped their heads to the side. It was Burke. He was standing in an open door frame with an irritated look on his face.

"Because you certainly are interrupting something," he continued. "Release Dr. Banfield immediately," he instructed the Wanderer.

With a mumbled curse she did, but not before slamming him into the wall again. Burke turned to the doctor.

"Dr. Banfield, what is the meaning of this?"

"Burke, you can't listen to him," the Wanderer tried to explain, "he's just-"

"Quiet," he snapped at her.

Slightly in shock, the Wanderer closed her mouth. Burke never talked to her like that. He was always snake tongued compliments and promises. He wasn't brave enough to risk his life by crossing her like that. At least not without several guards present.

"Dr. Banfield?"

Dr. Banfield eyed the Wanderer angrily. And straightened his coat.

"This... _junkie _is a danger to everyone in the building. She's overusing highly addictive chems and suffering blackouts. Beyond that her normal behavior borderlines on psychotic let alone when she's using. She threatened me when I was trying to help her for Christ's sake! She's your employee, so it's your problem with deal with her. She needs to clean up her act or she needs to get gone."

The doctor crossed his arms, his rant finished. The Wanderer glared at him hatefully. Burke nodded.

"I'll deal with this immediately, doctor. Thank you."

"What!?" the Wanderer shouted. "We had a deal, you son of a bitch!"

"I told you to be quiet!"

Again the Wanderer was stunned. What the hell was up with Burke right now?

Burke turned to the doctor again. "Dr. Banfield, thank you again. You may go."

Hesitantly, Banfield nodded his head and turned to go.

Once he was around the corner, the Wanderer turned to Burke and hissed at him, "You can't be serious! You think I'll let you or that lab coat wearing fucker just kick me out?"

Burke dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

"Of course I'm not serious. That bumbling buffoon doesn't know how valuable you are to this tower. However, I had hoped your habits wouldn't affect other residents like this." 

The Wanderer just stared at him incredulously. The man was perpetually two-faced.

"Get your addiction under control," he continued. "Before it does become an actual problem."

"The drugs aren't the problem," she argued.

Burke snorted and stared at the Wanderer disbelievingly.

"I'm being serious. Banfield is the problem. The man can't take a hint to shut up and leave me the hell alone."

"A gun is a very large hint, my dear."

"Before the gun, Burke! He wouldn't take a hint before the gun!"

"It doesn't matter. I expect you to either keep yourself under control, or to simply excise yourself from any scenarios where you will lose control. Understood?"

The Wanderer stood there for several seconds before responding

"...Understood. What about Dr. Banfield?"

"What about him? Do your job. Convince him you're getting clean. I don't really care."

The Wanderer scowled unhappily.

"Fine. I'll go tell the _good doctor_ I regret my lifestyle choices."

She turned to walk away, but Burke caught her arm and pulled her back towards him.

"Not now you're not. I have real work for you to do."

The Wanderer raised an eyebrow at him expectantly and cocked her head to the side.

"We have a problem and it needs to be dealt with."

"What sort of problem?"

Burke turned and walked back into his office, expecting the Wanderer to follow. He called back to her over his shoulder.

"A slaver problem."

The Wanderer's hand clamped down over the numbers branded on her wrist. She froze in the doorway with her eyes widened in fright.

Slavers.

That _was_ a problem.

_Right! Post chapter chat! Hope you're all enjoying this and waiting for more. I certainly enjoy writing it. If you want to let me know that you enjoy it drop a review and favorite the story! If you want to tell me you hate it then drop a review and then go jump in a ditch. Just kidding. I love you all. But seriously, review and favorite if you like the story. It means the world to me and provides very constructive feedback. On another note! If you drop a review for the story with a question, I will (absolutely guaranteed) answer it. As long as it isn't a spoiler that is. Also if your question is just interesting enough and related to Fallout specifically enough, I could certainly be persuaded to write some one-shots featuring quests from the Wanderer's past. Somethings can't be fit in this story, but if you have the interest I would be happy to write a little extra. So! In conclusion: favorite, review, question, learn, love, live, dream!_


	13. Fearful Business

Burke had seated himself behind his desk and waited for the Wanderer to follow him into the office. She was still frozen in the doorway. It was impossible for him not to notice her eyes locked in fright and her frigid posture. She looked like a spooked animal. Ready to bolt as soon as her heart started beating again. His voice brought her back to reality.

"Is something wrong?"

Her eyes broke away from whatever she'd been imagining and snapped to his face.

"Nothing," she whispered. She cleared her throat and with more confidence repeated herself. "Nothing, Mr. Burke."

"Good," he said slowly and motioned for her to have seat.

The Wanderer walked in and closed the door behind her. Much to her surprise, Burke was not the only the one in the office. Seated in front of his desk was a man clad in black combat armor. The chest-plate was adorned with a white, bird claw design.

Talon Company.

The man was leaning back on the rear legs of his chair with his feet crossed in front of him on the only other chair. He had a smoldering cigarette hanging between his lips. The Wanderer and he met eyes, but he didn't remove his feet from the chair. Clearly, chivalry was not in his nature. Despite the roiling fear in her stomach, the Wanderer still managed to pull the chair away from him and sit down in it. She looked at Burke, waiting for him to explain what this was all about.

"This is Commander Jabsco." Burke waved his hand at the rude man. "He is the leader of Talon Company. Our go to problem solvers. Well, they were before we hired you, that is."

Jabsco raised an eyebrow at the Wanderer.

"This is your new fixer?" he asked skeptically.

Burke held his tongue expecting an acid laced response from the Wanderer, but she just sat quietly in the chair with her hands clenched in her lap. Burke didn't usually get nervous, but her sitting white-knuckled and silent was enough to put him on edge. Something was deeply wrong with his employee.

"She's well worth her paycheck. Which, I might add, is significantly less than Talon Company's," he said to fill the growing silence.

Jabsco just grunted. He wasn't buying it.

Addressing the Wanderer again, Burke continued. "Commander Jabsco has approached us with some very useful information. Information that we can use to put ourselves ahead of a very messy situation. Commander, if you would."

Jabsco rolled his eyes and turned to the Wanderer. "Talon Company is hired all throughout the Wasteland. We're good. The best actually. So all sort of contracts run across our desks. Recently we had one of particular interest. One that affects Mr. Tenpenny. We had a fruitful business relationship with Mr. Tenpenny once upon a time," he shot the Wanderer a sour look. "But," he continued, "that ended. Still, I feel some goodwill towards the tower. Paradise Falls has issued a bounty. Eulogy Jones wants some VIP targets brought in for business and his man Grouse Jurley is making that happen. He's posted a bounty on four targets: some old guy. Alabama, Arkansas, or something; some girl from Big Town, Red I think her name was; Flak from Rivet City; and Tenpenny Tower's own Susan Lancaster."

Jabsco finished and waited expectantly for the Wanderer to talk. She still said nothing.

"Talon Company is going to pursue the bounty. First group to bring in one of the targets gets the bounty. We'll keep away from your whore, but thought I'd give you a warning that some others might come looking."

Burke nodded his gratitude to Jabsco. "Thank you, Commander Jabsco. The information is greatly appreciated."

"Course," Jabsco murmured. He was looking at the Wanderer. This was the person who took his Tenpenny Tower contract? Christ, she was just some girl. Maybe she was banging Burke. Didn't even look like some sort of impressive lay either. Jabsco couldn't see what possible purpose she could serve.

Seeing as he was dismissed, Jabsco crossed the room, nodded to Burke, and exited. Burke waited for the door to click shut and then remained silent for several more seconds. Once he was sure that Jabsco was no longer near the door he focused on the Wanderer.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed at her.

"I told you nothing," she replied, but her heart still wasn't in it.

"Frankly, I don't really care what it is as long as it doesn't stop you from doing your job!"

The Wanderer still didn't say anything. Just stared pointedly at the floor.

"Will it affect your performance?"

The Wanderer took a deep breath and steeled herself. "No. I'll be fine. What's the job?"

Burke stared at her for a few more seconds trying to gauge exactly what was twisting up the girl.

"What's the job?" she insisted.

"You heard Jabsco. A bounty has been posted on Susan's head."

"Serves her right," muttered the Wanderer.

Burke stared at her sternly and raised his voice a little. "Your personal feelings about Susan Lancaster are irrelevant. I don't care what the woman has said to you in the past, or how she acts towards you in the future. Your job is to protect the interests of Tenpenny Tower and that is exactly what you will do! I need you to provide Grouse with one of the other targets before anyone decides to come looking for Susan. I'm not waiting for Talon Company or some other Wasteland hunter decides to go after the bounty. We need this over with fast, so no one will even consider coming after Susan. Which means that you need to provide Grouse with one of his other targets. Tell me what you know about them."

Her face still drawn downwards and the usual fire in eyes suspiciously missing, the Wanderer thought about the list.

"Well, Arkansas is dead."

"Dead? How do you know?" 

"I, um, killed him for his rifle."

Burke pursed his lips. "Wonderful. I'd actually thought he'd be an easy target for you. His reputation might have kept other bounty hunters away, but I suspected you'd be able to deal with him. I suppose I was right, not that it matters. What about the girl from Big Town, Red?"

"No," the Wanderer said quickly. While everything else she'd said up until now had been with little conviction or strength, this she said with as much commanding finality as she could muster.

"No?" asked Burke. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean that I won't do it. I won't take Red. Big Town is already a target for Super Mutants and slavers. Red is their leader. If she goes the rest of the mungos- er- kids won't live long. I won't do that to them."

"And here I thought you had no morals at all," Burke chuckled. "You're not making this easy on yourself. Flak is no easy target. Rivet City is a fortress. How do you plan on getting to him?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Do you not understand the urgency? Or are you being difficult on purpose?"

"I'll figure it out, Burke!" she snapped. "I'll go get Flak and take him to the fucking slavers, alright?"

"Don't let me hold you up then," Burke dismissed. He pointed at the door.

As the Wanderer's hand closed on the handle to open the door, he called after her. "Don't fail here, Wanderer. Don't. Or it will be you going to Paradise Falls to negotiate Susan's release. Maybe Eulogy would be amicable to a trade? I can always have Talon Company return to take your position."

Burke wasn't sure what he expected of the Wanderer in response to his parting barb, but he did not expect quiet submission as she simply left the room and closed the door.

This did not bode well.

* * *

As the Wanderer shut the door, she leaned back against the wall next to it and let out a heaving sigh. She felt as if she'd been holding that breath for hours.

Slavers.

Why did it have to be slavers?

No. Don't think about it. _Do not_ think about it. If she started thinking about it then she wouldn't even be able to move. Come on, she was stronger than this! Right?

"I can do this," she whispered. She smiled with a fake confidence and almost immediately clamped a hand over her mouth and sprinted for the bathroom. She knelt in front of the toilet and began puking and coughing up her lunch. She moaned into the bowl.

"Why slavers?"

She rested her forehead on her arm and closed her eyes. She'd never been to Paradise Falls before. Specifically because of her stint in the Pitt. She wasn't sure how Eulogy Jones ran his operation, but she suspected it was similar to how Ashur did. She had no interest in being someone else's property again. Not like she was treated in the Pitt.

Her stomach heaved again as she recalled when she'd been taken into the Pitt.

It was shortly after she'd left the Vault. Almost immediately actually. She had spent the first night alone under the stars, but the second night... the second night she'd had company at her campsite. A group of men had approached. In retrospect she realized they'd been drawn by the fire she'd foolishly made. Light just attracted people and it just wasn't safe to attract attention. They'd acted nice enough, but the Wanderer's instincts had warned her even then. Not that it had mattered. She fought back as best she could. Which was pitifully. Maybe one of the slavers had been scratched?

She snorted in contempt for the weakling she'd been. The Pitt was a horror story, but she'd gotten through it! She had gotten through even worse! And fuck anything that was going to take her new home away from her! She wasn't going to let that happen even if it meant she had to deal with slavers.

Brand new anger coursed through her veins and she clambered to her feet. Couldn't be afraid if she was angry. She just had to stay angry. That shouldn't be a problem. Being angry at slavers was easy. Not to mention she was furious at Burke. How dare he threaten her like that? When she returned, she'd be sure to let him know exactly how upset she was. No one threatened to sell her and got to walk away unscathed. Not even Mr. Burke.

The Wanderer sprinted out of the bathroom and headed for the elevator. Dogmeat chased after her when he saw her leaving the restroom. She slammed her fist on the elevator button and stood impatiently.

"Come on, come on. Hurry up!"

She had to move fast if everything was going to work out. Jabsco may have given her a heads up, but other hunters would be hearing about the bounty soon enough. The door dinged open and she selected her floor. The day may be almost over, but that could work to her advantage. If she could reach Rivet City just before its market closed that would be the perfect time to kidnap Flak. And she had to get word to Big Town too. She'd fixed them up a securitron once upon a time, but if they had no warning that an attack was coming then there wouldn't be much the robot could do if everyone else wasn't prepared too.

Quickly exiting the elevator and unlocking the door to her suite, the Wanderer was already pulling off her shirt. Her leather armor sat in a crumpled heap on the floor where she'd left it earlier. She jumped from foot to foot as she struggled out of her jeans. The guard manning the elevator down the hallway swallowed nervously. The Wanderer had neglected to shut the door behind her and he could see her undressing. She pulled on her leather armor and scrunched up her nose at the scent it was giving off. No time to worry about that. She grabbed several chems from her stash and quickly inhaled some Jet to steady herself. She holstered her pistol, but decided to leave her rifle and shotgun. She had to be light. Turning to leave she caught sight of Vampire's Edge leaning against the wall in the corner. She grabbed it and using a spare belt, she strapped it to her back. With nothing else needed, she turned and walked out of the room.

The guard saw her coming his way and stood at attention. He tried to cover the fact that his knees were shaking. The Wanderer had a look on her face reminiscent of someone about to do violent and unspeakable things. The guard just prayed they weren't done to him. Someone out there in the universe answered his prayers. The Wanderer didn't even look at him.

Before leaving the tower, she stopped at the front desk to steal a pencil and scrap of paper. Rapidly scribbling her message down she knelt down on the floor next to Dogmeat. She wrapped the paper several times around his collar.

"Okay, boy. I need you to do something for me. Do you remember Big Town? Red?"

The dog gave no indication of his understanding, but remained focused on his mistress's instructions.

"You go to her. Go to Red. Protect her, okay?" She gave his ears a quick scratch. "Good boy."

Rising to her feet she and Dogmeat exited the lobby. When they got out of the front gate, Dogmeat leaned over and gave the Wanderer's hand a quick lick before taking off into the Wasteland. Soon enough the rapidly moving hound disappeared behind the rolling, Wasteland hills. The Wanderer almost immediately missed him and could feel her heart ache. She didn't want to deal with slavers by herself.

No, stop thinking about that, she mentally admonished to herself. Stay angry! Just remember the work camps. The inspections. Remember Ashur! Remember everything he did to you!

And she did. With a disgusted shiver, she could feel the red beast inside her chest swell up in rage. She remembered how it felt to be treated like less than human, but this time would be different. This time no slaver would lay his fucking hands on her. If he did, he was going to lose them.

Following Dogmeat's example she took of into the Wasteland at a run. Vampire's Edge rattled a bit so she tightened the belt strap and secured it. With the sword stuck firmly in place she picked up the pace. Sorry, Flak, but she wasn't going to be a slave again. Better you than me, she thought.

* * *

She'd just made it. The sun was peaking behind the hills when she'd made it to Rivet City. The Wanderer swiftly crossed the bridge into the city proper and ran into the main section of the former battleship. The market was just closing. Perfect. She hurried to the stairs leading down a level and started towards Flak and Shrapnel's weapons emporium. Now, she just had to get Flak away from Shrapnel and she'd be good to go.

_**Oh, yes. "Good to go". Hilarious.**_

The Wanderer froze. Her mouth dropping open in a shocked 'O'.

_Exactly what is your plan to get Flak?_

Oh, no.

Not them.

Not now.

She'd taken Jet right before leaving! That should have kept them quiet. This didn't make any sense. They couldn't be here! They couldn't!

The Wanderer swallowed as a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She couldn't feel her limbs. She could barely breathe.

_Why don't we go for a little walk?_

The Wanderer spun on her heel and went back up the stairs and towards the main deck of Rivet City.

_**You know, we do get ever so offended when you try to silence us.**_

_Oh, yeah. Just soooo offended._

Why were the Voices doing this? How did it all come to this? She wondered what had changed. Once upon a time they just shouted at her, or wanted her to kill or help somebody. Now? Now they were determined to kill her.

_You want to know what happened?_

_**You wanted to change.**_

_You don't get to change._

The Wanderer was paraded across the deck like a puppet, a marionette with no self-control. The voices were dripping with malicious glee. They were enjoying this.

_**You wanted to be happy.**_

_You don't get to be happy._

Her body stopped at the railing of the deck. She looked over and saw the water far below. The fall was plenty far enough to break all her bones when she hit the water's surface. They were going to make her jump.

_**You just wanted to live your life?**_

_Well now you don't get to live it at all._

One foot lifted onto the first rail. Then the second. She lifted her leg over the top railing. The Wanderer was sat straddling the top rail as they forced her to look down. Bitter and angry tears fell from her eyes as she struggled to step back over the railing and back to safety.

_Oh, no you don't!_

_**Not this time.**_

Her body locked up as she fought for control, but it was a losing battle. Slowly, but surely her other leg was raised over the railing until she was seated facing away from the deck.

_This time..._

_**...you die.**_

And then the Wanderer jumped.

_As is my usual request, please favorite, follow, and review. Questions, comments, concerns? Drop it in the reviews or send me a message. Always happy to answer._


	14. Defying Fate

Fate... something that unavoidably befalls a person; her fortune; her lot in life. Was this it? Driven mad by the horror's of her life and now forced to be witness as her own mind holds her body hostage and decides to pursue its own final solution?

As she felt gravity pulling her stomach downwards, her stomach filled with a small tingling feeling. Was that fear? No. She wasn't afraid of her death. She never had been. So what was it?

Was it... relief?

The Wanderer wasn't going to find out on that day because fate; that ultimate order by which events are inevitably predetermined had different plans for her.

She never met the water. She began her fall from the rail, but didn't make it any further than that. A hand gripped her color and caught her. The Wanderer's descent came to a jerking halt as her jacket caught at her throat.

_No!_

_**How?!**_

The Voices craned her neck around and looked up at a familiar face. A face that the Wanderer had honestly never expected to see again.

It was a young man dressed in blue jumpsuit and black, leather jacket.

Butch Deloria stared down at her with a pissed off expression adorning his features.

"The fuck you doing?" he shouted at her.

The Wanderer's mind was racing. No, Butch! No! He couldn't be here. Not now. It wasn't safe. She still wasn't in control.

Even as she thought that she could feel one of her hands sliding down her leg towards her holster.

"Seriously," Butch grunted as he pulled her back up. "What the fuck are you thinking?"

With one more heave Butch pulled the Wanderer back over the railing. She landed on the metal with a meaty thud, but didn't remained silent.

"Come on. Spit it out! What were you doing?" Butch asked again.

The Wanderer looked up at him, trying to express with her eyes the danger he was in. Once upon a time she'd hated Butch, but that was before she met him again out here in the Wasteland. He'd been one of the only people in her past life that didn't immediately condemn her for what she'd done. And now she was going to shoot him.

She could feel her hand slowly unclip her pistol and begin to pull it out.

She wanted to yell at Butch to run, to get away from her, that she wasn't safe to be around, but her mouth wasn't hers to control.

_He's going to die now. And then you are going to jump. You don't get to escape._

Her arm raised the gun and leveled it at Butch.

"Holy- what are you doing? You looking for trouble?!" he exclaimed and tried to jerk back, but it didn't matter. The Voices had her.

_Say goodbye._

No!

She wouldn't do it. This was her fucking body! And she was _not _going to kill Butch.

Her gun hand trembled as she fought for control. The barrel dipped slightly, but didn't go down. She grit her teeth, fighting with all her might.

She was the Lone fucking Wanderer! And she... was not... going... to shoot him!

Butch took her hesitation and used it to his advantage, lunging forward he smacked the gun away and it went skittering across the deck and off the edge. Far below it plunked into the water. With her disarmed, Butch went on the offensive and delivered a mean right cross to her face. The force of the blow spun her around and she fell to the ground.

"Yeah, Tunnel Snakes rule!"

Butch pumped his fist in victory before checking on his downed "friend".

"You wanna tell me what the fuck that was about, huh?"

The Wanderer spit a glob of blood on the deck as the Voice screamed in frustration and anger. The Wanderer turned over towards Butch. Her cheek was already turning red from where he'd slugged her.

"Ouch. Sorry bout that, but you know, you were acting like a psycho so... yeah."

_**Perhaps a different strategy is in order.**_

NO! No fucking way! It was the Wanderer's turn to mentally scream in anger as control was once again taken from her.

"Butch..." she said. It was her voice, but it wasn't her words. "I- I don't-" Tears started to fall from her eyes. "I'm s-so s-sorry, Butch," she sobbed. The words sounded phony and hollow to her ears, but they had the intended effect on Butch.

"Ah, shit. Sorry, for slugging you like that, nosebleed." Butch knelt down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder as she began to bawl her eyes out. She threw her arms around him and began to weep into his shoulder.

Butch looked startled before awkwardly patting her on the back.

"Jesus, you- uh- you sure got some water works."

The Wanderer pulled away from his shoulder and sniffed. "I- I just couldn't d- do it anymore." She hiccuped miserably to sell the lie.

The Wanderer felt like vomiting in her own skull at the false display of emotion.

_**Oh, I'm sorry if you have the emotional range of a feral ghoul.**_

Butch held her by the shoulders before hugging her again.

"Butch... I..." The Wanderer separated from Butch and looked up at him.

"What?"

She leaned in closer. She slowly closed her eyes and puckered her lips. Butch's eyes widened in surprise. "What are you-"

He was cut off as she pressed her lips against his. Butch shifted uncomfortably, but soon enough caved to what he thought was the Wanderer's intentions. He held her to him and kissed her back. She pulled her body as close to his as she could... and slowly began sliding her hand in his pocket for his switchblade.

The Wanderer was raging as hard as she could, but she remained an unwilling participant in this charade. She had to stop them. Come on! Fight, damn it! FIGHT! Mustering up as much strength as she could she savagely bit into her cheek. Blood welled up in her mouth, but it had the desired effect.

_**NO!**_

She pushed herself away from Butch and yelled, "stop!"

Butch stumbled back, shocked. "The fuck?" he cried in confusion. "I'm getting some mixed signals here!"

"Butch, I don't have time. I have to- I have to-" the Wanderer was fumbling in her jacket for where she'd stashed her chems. With a shaking grasp she pulled an inhaler of Jet out. Butch's eyes widened.

"Fuck that! You're using again!" he shouted angrily. "I thought we got you over this!"

"It's not like that, Butch. I have to hurry! They're coming back!"

The Wanderer raised the Jet to her mouth, but was halted as Butch grabbed her wrist. "Oh, no you don't!"

"Butch!" she screamed in frustration, but he didn't have release her arm. "I NEED IT!" she cried.

"Oh, yeah," he said sarcastically. "I sure you do." He was trying to wrestle the inhaler away from her.

"Goddamn it, Butch! You stupid bastard!"

She jabbed him in the gut with her knee and tried to spin out of his grasp. Butch doubled over in pain, but didn't release her. With her free hand she wrenched Butch's arm to the right. Following the limb, Butch flipped over onto his back. With a thud and a gasp he let go of her. She turned to run from him, but the fight had not left the Tunnel Snake. He reached out and clasped at her ankles. His hand caught and the Wanderer fell to the deck with him. The inhaler of Jet slipped from her grasp and skittered towards the open door back into Rivet City.

"No!"

"Yes! Now sit still you crazy bitch!"

The Wanderer rolled onto her back and looked back at Butch. He was clutching her boot and glaring up at her.

"You were clean! What the fuck did you go back for?"

"Fuck! Off! BUTCH!" Each word was punctuated with a kick to the face. On the last one, Butch released her leg, but it was only a feint. As the Wanderer rolled over and tried to get back to her feet, Butch was already rising and moving. He planted his foot firmly in her back and stepped over her. With a grunt and a curse, the Wanderer was squashed to the deck as Butch passed her.

"You DO NOT need this!" he cried as he scooped up the inhaler and turned to her.

"Butch, I don't have time for this! Give me the Jet. Now." The Wanderer was pleading with him now, but to Butch she looked just like any other addict.

Butch nodded his head at her, shrugged his shoulders, and then turned and hurled the Jet over the ship's edge. "What now?" he asked her.

The Wanderer's only answer was a feral scream of rage and panic as she tackled him through the open door. They crashed to the metal floor with a loud bang. She had her hands wrapped around her throat as she shouted incoherently at him. With his hands trying to pull hers off, Butch managed to get his foot planted in her pelvis. He rolled himself back as best he could and kicked her off him. With a surprised yell, the Wanderer sailed over him and down the stairs. She rolled and crashed down them, grunting in pain with each impact. However, the pain cleared away some of the static in her head again and kept the Voices at bay for a few more precious seconds. Her movement down the stairs was halted when she slammed into the wall at the bottom, loudly breaking through the crates and pallets stacked there.

Butch stood up at the top of the stairs. He was rubbing his throat and looking down at her.

"Sorry about that, but we both know it's for your own good."

"Fuck you," she called up to him. She reached into her pocket again and pulled out a syringe of Psycho. This was her last chem. Her last chance. Butch's eyes widened as he saw her pull it out.

"Fuck me!" he cried as she scrabbled to her feet and took off at a run down the metal corridor. Butch leaped down the stairs and careened after her. "Stop this shit, goddamn it! Hey!"

The Wanderer ignored him as she was trying to carefully stab the syringe in her arm while stepping over all the ships raised door frames. Unfortunately her focus wasn't enough as an officer of Rivet City Security stepped out in front of her. His eyes widened when he saw the girl sprinting at him, but neither of them had enough time to react as they crashed into each other.

The guard landed on the ground with the Wanderer on top of him.

"What the hell are you doing running around like that?" he yelled at her. She sat up as best she could, which turned out to be her awkwardly straddling him and she began linging the needle up on her arm again. His eyes locked onto it. "Fucking, junkie!"

The security officer pushed her up and off of him before quickly getting to his feet. Butch skidded to a stop behind the two of them.

"You wanna get high? You get high _outside_ of Rivet City!" He grabbed her arm and pulled it away. The Wanderer screamed at him.

"NO! I DON'T HAVE ANYMORE TIME!"

She tried to drop the needle and catch it with her other hand, but it was too late.

_You can't run from this!_

_**It's inevitable.**_

The fingers of her free hand closed around the falling syringe, but it wasn't her doing the catching. She raised her fist into the air above her head, but it wasn't pointing the Psycho at her.

"Oh shit! Watch out!" Butch shouted as the Wanderer brought the needle down straight into the security officer's eye.

Butch's eyes widened in shock. "JESUS CHRIST!"

The officer dropped to the ground howling in pain as the Wanderer stumbled away from him with a look of horror on her face.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

"Butch, I- I couldn't- it wasn't-"

But the explanation just wouldn't come. Butch stared at her with his mouth hanging open. With her hands shaking the Wanderer turned and ran away from him. Twisting and turning through Rivet City's corridors she brushed past and knocked over anyone in her way. Where was it? Where was the fucking exit?

There! Up ahead!

The Wanderer skidded to a stop at the door standing between her and escape. She turned the wheel on the door and pushed it open with a squeal of metal. The Rivet City market lay before her.

"You! STOP!"

She looked back over her shoulder. Three of Rivet City's finest were sprinting down the hallway with their weapons drawn. She slammed the door and took off across the market. The exit was right there across the plaza! She could make it!

The door to the Wasteland opened. A flood of security officers flooded inside followed by their commanding officer, Harkness.

The Wanderer stumbled to a stop and tried to go back the way she came, but the officers who were following her had already caught up. She spun around as they spread out across the raised catwalk that surrounded the market. Her eyes widened in panic. Oh no, no, no, no!

_**What part of inevitable do you not understand?**_

_No matter what you do, you cannot fight fate._

Her face fell as she listened to them. Was this really her fate? Did she really not have a chance?

No. She couldn't accept that. She'd fought too fucking hard for her old life _and _her new life. And damn it she wasn't going to just give up. Even now.

She grit her teeth and looked around her. The guards had surrounded the market and were looking down at her. Harkness was shouting for her to lay face down on the floor with her hands behind her head. There wasn't any immediate escape, but! There were several people trapped down here with her and one of them was...

The Wanderer smiled wickedly.

It was Flak.

Harkness had begun to descend the stairs towards her. "Down on the ground. NOW!"

She raised her hands, but didn't stop smiling.

"I surrender," she said.

_What are you planning?_

She ignored the Voice.

"Please, I'd like to surrender."

"Then get on the goddamn ground!" shouted Harkness.

She took a step towards him before diving to the side and rolling back to her feet.

Right next to Flak.

In one fluid motion she spun Flak around, drew Vampire's Edge, and held it to his throat. She stepped behind her brand new human shield and looked at Harkness.

"Back off, Harkness. Now. Or..." Her words trailed off suggestively. She wrapped her arm around Flak's throat tightly and leveled the point of her sword on his Adam's apple.

_**You think this will change anything? We aren't letting you leave this place alive. What part of that aren't you understanding?**_

To illustrate its point, the Voice froze her legs.

_You are going to die here._

The Wanderer snorted derisively and quickly pulled Vampire's Edge across her forearm. The Voices screamed as blood welled up from the cut and ran down her arm. The sting of the wound was barely felt as the Wanderer grinned in triumph. She had them beat.

Now she just had to get away from River City securiy.

"Let him go," shouted Harkness. He had his rifle shouldered, but had no clear shot as the Wanderer peered over Flak's shoulder.

"Not going to happen," she said in a sing song voice. "I'm going to walk out of here and Flak is going to come with me."

"I'm not just going to let you leave here."

"For fuck's sake, Harkness!" cried Flak with difficulty. The sword at his throat did not make talking an easy task. "Just let her walk!"

Harkness clenched his jaw in frustration. Letting someone go was not in his nature and this didn't feel right to him.

"Fine," he spat out in defeat. He waved at the men guarding the door to the bridge. "Let her pass. Now, you release Flak."

"Weren't you listening? He's coming with me!"

Flak struggled against her. "What?! Come on! You've got what you want!"

The Wanderer pressed harder against his throat. Hard enough to draw blood. "We're both walking out of here Harkness."

"No you're not," came a voice from behind her. She couldn't see him, but she could tell that Butch had a gun trained at her head.

"Butch! What are you doing?" she hissed at him.

"What am I doing? What are _you _doing? Did you lose your goddamn mind?"

The Wanderer heard him step forward and then felt the barrel of a pistol press into the back of her skull. "I can explain! I swear! Just let me leave!"

"Mmmmmmm, no."

"Butch!" she spat out in frustration.

"I don't know what happened to you," he said. "I thought you were getting better, but I guess I was wrong. You've always had my back though. Now, I've got yours. Even if that means getting you arrested so I can get you some fucking help."

"I don't need help!"

Her eyes were scanning the room, trying to figure her way out of this. Harkness was still standing in front of her. Though he'd shouldered his gun again now that Butch had her in his sights. The rest of Harkness's men were shifting impatiently. It would only take one wrong move to make them all open fire. Think! She could still do this.

"Butch, please just trust me. Nothing is what it looks like."

The barrel of the gun didn't move. Butch wasn't buying it.

"Please. I just need you to trust me."

"Wish I could, but I can't. This is for your own good."

She grit her teeth. The stubborn bastard was going to make her do this.

"Butch, I-"

Mid-sentence she dropped to the floor. She jabbed one fist into the back of Flak's knees causing him to drop with her. Time seemed to slow down. Harkness was shouting to hold fire. Butch was trying to step back from her, but it was too late. She rolled backwards and shot up. She brought the hilt of Vampire's Edge hard into his elbow. He dropped the pistol, but was already drawing his switchblade. He tried to slash at her, but his heart wasn't in it. He wasn't trying to kill her.

She caught his wrist, stopping the slash, and and grabbed him by his collar. She threw herself backwards like he'd done on the stairs. She went backwards over Flak and put her feet on Butch's chest. With a hefty kick she launched Butch over her and into Harkness.

Using her momentum she rolled back to her feet before grabbing Flak by the scruff of his neck and darting for the nearest door back into the ship.

"Fire! Fire!"

Rivet City security opened up on them. Bullets tore through the canopies of the market's shops and pinged off the floor. Pulling Flak after her, the Wanderer ducked through an open doorway and fled deeper into the ship. She twisted and turned until she found the stairs.

"Down! Go down!" she shouted at Flak. With a prod from her sword he stumbled down the stairs. He could hear help coming, but Harkness wasn't close enough for him to risk disobeying. They descended and descended until they couldn't go any deeper. With some more prodding, the Wanderer got Flak to start running down the hall until they came to a closed door at a dead end.

"Way to go," he muttered with a small smile. "You've taken us right to the flooded section of the ship."

With a dirty look, the Wanderer slashed at his face. With a yell, he raised his hands to guard his face and felt the sword slice across his palms. He clasped his hands to his chest in pain, but he hadn't been cut deeply. The Wanderer knew exactly how to handle the sword. She turned to look back down the hallway. She could hear her pursuers approaching.

She pushed Flak to his knees and put Vampire's Edge back to his throat. Harkness rounded the corner with his rifle drawn and sighted on her.

"It's over. You've got nowhere to run. Just give it up."

The corners of the Wanderer's lips perked up into a little smile. She removed the blade from Flak's throat and pushed him forwards, but it was only a ploy. As Flak fell to the floor, Harkness's eyes followed him. The Wanderer whirled around and spun the wheel on the door. As he fell, Flak caught sight of what she was doing.

"Wait! No!"

With a great groan of metal the wheel reached its limits. The door slammed open as a wall of water cascaded into the ship. The Wanderer vanished under the sheer amount of water rushing in. Harkness and his men ran back down the hall they'd come down in an effort to escape the tidal wave. Flak frantically tried to rise above the water to flee as well, but he felt something holding onto his foot. With a gasp he felt the water rise above his head. He continued to struggle, but whatever his foot was caught on wasn't letting him loose. He could feel his lungs straining and his vision fading. With a loud gurgle he screamed under the water, but all that came out was a futile stream of bubbles.

Flak woke up to a swift kick in the chest. He coughed violently and spat up water.

"Get up."

Flak opened his eyes and looked up at the sodden Wanderer. She was slowly cutting horizontally across her forearm with her sword as she looked down at him.

"You and I have to get moving."

"Where?" he gasped quietly.

With a smile that chilled Flak to the bone, she answered. "Paradise Falls."

_Ta-da! This chapter was originally written completely different, but it evolved and turned out much better this way in my opinion. As I say every time: please review, favorite, and follow. Questions? Send me a message or leave it as a review so everyone can see. Next time it's on to Paradise Falls!_


	15. Not Forgotten

_So incredibly sorry for the late update. I just moved and started training at a new job all while taking online classes. It's been busy. On top of that my imagination was apparently used entirely on another story idea I'm working on. I had no idea how to write this. However, inspiration struck and here we are. So for all of you still out there reading this story, please remember to review and favorite. That's how more people see it. I'll do my best to absolutely update once or twice a week for sure. Enjoy._

* * *

Flak stumbled across the uneven terrain of the Wasteland. His hands were tied and leashed to his captor, who was setting their pace several steps ahead of him. A few times he'd tried to make a run for it, but each time she'd caught him and now... well, now he was tied up. Once he'd even tried to fight her, but all that had earned him was a broken nose and a long, shallow cut across the cheek. She was terrifyingly accurate with that sword!

"Come on, please! I'm begging you, whatever Paradise Falls is offering Shrapnel and I will pay you better! I swear we will!"

Flak's pleading fell on uncaring ears. He wasn't even sure if she was listening. She certainly gave no indication that she was. Throughout their entire prolonged march she hadn't said a single word. She'd barely even glanced at him. Even when he tried to escape, she just pursued him with some sort of serene calm.

The only time she did anything was when she took that sword of hers and cut herself along her forearm. She did this periodically throughout the night and morning. Her left arm was crisscrossed with cuts now from the bicep all the way down to her hand and they'd been leaving a trail of blood behind them, but the she just kept walking! It was like she was possessed or something. Flak couldn't wrap his head around it. She must be crazy, he reasoned.

"We're here."

Her voice pulled Flak out of his reverie. She'd spoken! He stumbled to a halt behind her and swallowed nervously. Paradise Falls loomed before them. The former strip mall stood in terrifying glory before them. Chain link fences and scrap iron walls surrounded the square main buildings. Battle-hardened slavers patrolled the perimeter, always looking for any attempted escapees or anyone stupid enough to break _into_ Paradise Falls.

The young woman shifted the leash and drew her sword. She added another cut to her arm and shook her head back and forth like she was trying to clear her mind. Without looking she gave his leash a tug and began walking again, but Flak stood paralyzed and remained where he was.

"I- I'm not g-going in there! NO WAY!"

He tried to take a step backward away from the slaver haven, but the Wanderer just gave his leash a harder pull and yanked him towards her. He fell forward to his knees. She raised the point of her blade (which still had her blood on it) and leveled it with one of his eyes.

"Listen. Slavers generally try to keep their slaves in good condition. They use threat of pain, not threat of injury. I don't care about your condition."

The sword point hovered menacingly closer. "If you don't start walking, I'm going to take an eye," she threatened. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered hoarsely.

She lowered the sword and Flak followed meekly behind her without protest. They were about thirty meters from the gate when a young man dressed in rags sprinted out. The two men stationed at the gate did nothing to stop him. One even laughed and yelled, "run faster!" Flak could here a loud beeping grow louder as the man approached. It almost sounded like the noise a land mine would make. The man drew even with them. His eyes met the imprisoned Flak's.

Then the beeping stopped...

And his head exploded.

Flak shouted in horror and frantically tried to brush off any of the human meat that had covered him. The Wanderer took a moment to rub the blood away from her eyes, but showed as much care for the exploded slave as she did Flak. With another pull, she basically dragged Flak to the gates.

"Halt! Or don't. I haven't shot anyone in a while. I could use the practice."

One of the two men at the gate stepped forward with his rifle raised. The Wanderer pulled Flak forward by the shoulder and shouted back, "I'm here on business."

The man lowered his gun and kicked at a rock. "Goddamn, I hate this fucking job some days. It's been far too long since I shot someone."

"A pity," the Wanderer replied.

"Oh, don't humor him. What business are you here for?"

The Wanderer stared down at the man who spoke. Sweat shined on his black skin and his oily black hair was slicked back. She already didn't like him. Her stomach was crawling being this close to slavers. Well, she was here. Might as well get it over with. She kicked Flak in the back of the legs and pushed him forwards."

"The bounty." She pointed at her captive. "Flak."

The man jumped forward eagerly. "No fucking way! How the hell'd you get old queen Flak? I'm surprised you're still alive!" He seemed both amused and mystified she'd actually done it.

"Well, shit. I'm Grouse. You did some damn good work. We need to keep a close eye on that one though," he paused and delivered a swift kick to the downed Flak. "He knows our system too well. He sold us out to get into Rivet City. We'll never forget that. And now we'll make sure he never forgets it either," he continued.

He held his hand out for the leash which the Wanderer dropped into his hands.

"Come on! We'll go get your pay all sorted out. And we can get Flak to his new home. I'm thinking the Box will be a good place for him."

The Wanderer hesitated. The gates sat before her, but her eyes were looking past it. Paradise Falls. The most infamous slaver center in the Capital Wasteland second only to the Pitt. Where she'd been a slave. Her legs weren't moving. Her body wouldn't let her go into another place like it. It was almost like...

The Voices!

But there was no shouting in her head. She nervously ran a finger along her arm. Each time it ran over one of the multitude of cuts she'd made she would wince. No. The Voices were taken care of. For now at least.

This was fear. Plain and simple. Her stomach was fluttering; her knees were quivering; and the sweat beading on her brow had nothing to do with the heat. When she'd been purchased by the Calaveras, she'd been so relieved to finally be free of the Pitt and to be gone from the hell it had made for her. That relief disappeared soon enough thanks to her purchasers. After she'd escaped her new tormentors, she had never strayed towards any large raider or slaver encampment like Evergreen Mills or Paradise Falls again.

She'd managed to convince herself that it wasn't because she was terrified of them, but now here she was. Paralyzed with fear, standing at the gates of Paradise Falls and if any of its inhabitants even suspected she was an easy target, then her day would definitely take a turn for the worse.

All she wanted right now was to curl up under her blankets back at Tenpenny Tower.

That's why you're doing this, she thought to herself, so you can _stay_ in Tenpenny Tower.

She'd told herself that she was going to make a new life. A new life that she wouldn't let her past destroy. She'd cut ties and moved on. Her past as a slave was in the _past_. Now, if she had to go into Paradise Falls then damn it she was going!

Her expression hardened and she jogged to catch up to Grouse and Flak. Grouse was still talking about the horrors that the slavers were going to inflict upon Flak. The former store owner looked quite faint, but allowed himself to be pulled along. Grouse turned to face her when she caught up.

"So, anyways. We'll go see Eulogy. He'll get your pay all squared. Caps work? Or are you looking for barter?"

"Caps are fine," she replied quietly, her eyes casting about and looking at the caged slaves.

Grouse raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't question the shift in behavior. After working with someone like Carolina Red, the psychotic slave mistress here in Paradise Falls, he'd never be surprised at a woman's mood changing on the fly. They walked deeper into the complex and started moving to the left. They passed a weapons store and bar area. Grouse couldn't resist taunting Flak again in front of Lock and Load.

"You had this, you stupid sonofabitch! But then you threw it all away. And! You stabbed us in the back. Bet you wished you hadn't done that now?"

Flak remained silent, but his eyes widened in terror. Grouse grinned menacingly at him before facing the Wanderer again. He pointed at what looked like an old, dilapidated, movie theater.

"That's Eulogy's place. Go on in. Tell the girls I sent you. They'll get Eulogy and your bill will be paid. Yeah?"

She nodded silently and didn't meet his eyes. Her gaze was still transfixed on all the slaves. Grouse shook his head at her before grabbing Flak by the collar and dragging him off to god knows where.

The Wanderer looked at the once decadent building and gulped nervously. She'd heard of Eulogy Jones, the King of Paradise Falls. He'd violently deposed the former leader and had taken the slaver haven to new heights of success. He was the Capital Wasteland's very own Ashur. And if there was anything she'd learned during her time in the Pitt, it was that Eulogy Jones would not be a man she wanted to cross.

She approached the door and gave a meek knock on the door. There was no response.

Of course there wasn't, she chided at herself, knock like you mean it!

She gritted her teeth and rapped her knuckles on the door. Almost immediately the door sprang open. The Wanderer stumbled back in surprise. A black woman in a pink dress and wearing a slave collar stood there glaring at her.

"What is it?" she asked impatiently.

"I- I- I'm-" the Wanderer stuttered.

"Y-y-you're- going to act like a fool?"

This time it was the Wanderer's turn to glare. She shoved the slave aside and strode into the building.

"I'm here to see Eulogy. Grouse sent me."

Another similarly dressed slave entered the hallway upon hearing this.

"Oh, Grouse sent you to Eulogy? You're going to get it now, Crimson!"

The first slave, Crimson, jumped in alarm, her face looking worried.

"You're here to see Eulogy?" she asked.

"Yes," the Wanderer replied bluntly with her arms crossed.

"Bet you wish you weren't rude now, Crimson?"

Crimson stomped her foot and yelled shrilly. "Shut up, Clover!" She whirled back to the Wanderer. "Please don't tell Eulogy, miss. Please!"

Clover pushed Crimson away with a gleeful grin. "You'll get yours, Crimson. Now, miss, if you'll follow me. _I'll_ take you to Eulogy."

Clover grabbed one of her hands and pulled her down the hallway, deeper into the building. Crimson was left fretting in the front hallway. They crossed an atrium and approached a shut door. With a smile at the Wanderer, Clover approached the door and knocked on it three times.

A muffled, "come in," was heard.

Clover opened the door and entered with her head bowed.

"Eulogy, you have a guest here."

"Well, send him in! What the hell are you waiting for!? You stupid or something?"

The voice was smooth and the harsh words and tone didn't seem to fit, but the Wanderer wouldn't let that fool her. This was a man who ruined lives. Clover bowed deeper and just took the verbal abuse. She stepped aside and waved the Wanderer in.

Eulogy Jones sat behind a massive desk and drummed his fingers impatiently. Upon seeing the Wanderer, the anger darkening his features disappeared and he greeted her with a wide smile. Her stomach churned and she resisted the urge to hurl.

"My apologies. I suppose I should have said 'send her in'."

The Wanderer managed a small, nervous smile. Eulogy stood up and walked around his desk towards her. He set a hand on her shoulder. Where it touched, her skin crawled.

"Nothing to be nervous about, my girl," he began to slide his hand down her arm, but was stopped by the numerous cuts she'd given herself on the march to Paradise Falls. "Oh! My, my, my. Whatever happened here? We'll have to get you over to Cutter."

The Wanderer slid out from under his grip and turned to face him. Her back was pressed against the wall. Eulogy's very presence was driving her mad.

"I'm fine, really," she insisted.

Eulogy merely nodded before asking, "If you say so. Now, what may I help you with? What sort of business will we be doing?" He leered at her breasts and smiled suggestively.

The Wanderer shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and stammered out, "F- F- Flak, sir."

Eulogy smiled even wider. "No need to stand on formality her, my girl. The 'sir' isn't necessary."

The Wanderer's face whitened. She'd called him sir! Just like she'd been trained to do in the Pitt.

"You say you captured Flak, though? That is some outstanding news," Eulogy continued. "However, I'm afraid that the bounty has already been claimed by something else."

"It has?" she questioned in a whisper. The slave master's presence was overwhelming her. She couldn't think. She had to get out of here. Out of this room, out of this building, and out of Paradise Falls.

"Yes, it has, my girl. Just a few moments ago actually. I believe the hunters are still here actually." Eulogy approached her and put a hand on the wall next to her head. "So sorry, you went through all the hard work," he lied.

"Hard work..." the Wanderer echoed. Eulogy was right in front of her. She averted her eyes and kept her hands at her side.

Stop acting like a slave, she mentally raged at herself.

"You know what?" asked Eulogy. "Why don't we go see them? You can meet the group who beat you. Get to know each other. I find a little friendly competition makes people work better. In the future maybe you won't be beaten."

The Wanderer visibly cringed at the word beaten. Eulogy nodded his head and smiled knowingly at her. She suspected e knew exactly what was happening in her mind.

"I- I don't, um, think that's a good idea," the Wanderer said weakly.

"Nonsense. I insist."

Eulogy backed away from her and walked to his door. "Come along."

The Wanderer tried to resist, she really did, but she found herself following Eulogy nonetheless. Maybe once she was outside she'd be able to leave. She just- she couldn't deal with this right now. Her brain had shut down. She couldn't process what was happening. And she didn't have any chems to calm her thoughts. But maybe...

Yeah.

She pulled Vampire's Edge a little out of its sheathe and dragged her palm across it. Before Eulogy noticed she closed her palm around the bloody cut and closed her eyes in relief. That's what she needed. Just a little control. Just enough to get her through this.

Eulogy led her out of his pad and back into the main district of Paradise Falls. He set a brisk pace and didn't even look back to check if she was following. He knew she was. He led her back towards the slave pens and to where the group that had turned in the bounty first were.

"Here we are, my girl," he said as they rounded a final corner.

The Wanderer walked up next to him and saw... Commander Jabsco?

Jabsco and several of his men were laughing and joking with each other. Jabsco noted their arrival and he smirked at the Wanderer.

"Told you my boys and I would be going after this bounty. Guess you aren't worth whatever Mr. Burke is paying you."

The Wanderer didn't reply. Normally, she'd have fallen for the taunt, but not right now. Right now, she was a panicked animal looking for an escape. An escape that Eulogy Jones was holding at bay.

"Commander Jabsco here came in with the slave merely an hour before you did. You both had quite a rough time I must say." Eulogy rubbed the back of his hand down the Wanderer's sliced up arm. She shuddered, but did nothing to resist. "Apparently, several of his men were killed by some sort of crazed, Wasteland, demon hound. Must have been quite the fight."

Hound?

It was then that the Wanderer's eyes looked beyond Commander Jabsco and into the cage they were standing in front of. Curled up in the corner was the figure of a teenage girl that the Wanderer had seen before. Her black skin was blemished by bruises and her glasses were broken, but the Wanderer recognized the bandana.

"Red," the Wanderer croaked quietly. Her voice was unnoticed by the men surrounding her.

"Yeah, damned beast was tearing out throats left and right! But I finally got it," bragged Jabsco. "It took a couple of shouts before it limped away. Didn't have a chance to go after it, but it's dead now. I guarantee it. Nothing lives after being shot up like that."

Dogmeat.

The Wanderer stood in shock as the meager control she'd been building up shattered.

"What could it have been doing in Big Town?" wondered Eulogy.

Jabsco never got the chance to answer as it was extremely difficult to speak with the Wanderer's fist in his mouth. He reeled backwards from the blow and slammed into the cage with a clatter. He spat out a few broken teeth and looked up in surprise. The Wanderer was already pouncing on him again with her fists raised. Several of his teeth were still embedded in her knuckles.

She howled incoherently, the screaming slowly turned to sobbing as she pummeled Jabsco. The Talon Company Mercs crowded around her and tried to drag her off. She barely noticed them and didn't even try to fight them. All her rage and all her sorrow was directed at the bleeding man lying in front of her. The mercenaries grabbed her arms, but she elbowed one in the nose and continued to hammer her fists in Jabsco's face. His eyes were closed, his lips were split, and his face was cut and bleeding. The commander had stopped moving.

With renewed vigor the Talon Company mercenaries pulled her off. One had his arm wrapped around her throat, two more had her arms, and one was clutching her legs.

Another one of Jabsco's men knelt down next to his body and checked for a pulse.

"Christ, he's dead! Crazy bitch killed him!" The soldier stood to his feet and drew his pistol, but was stopped by Eulogy.

"Ah, ah, ah. I don't think that's necessary."

The soldier looked at Eulogy and back to the still struggling and growling Wanderer.

"But-"

"No, buts. I'll pay good money for this one."

Eulogy pushed past the mercenary and towards the Wanderer. He stroked her face and brushed her tears away.

"Don't touch me," she spat.

Eulogy frowned and backhanded her across the face. The Wanderer's head snapped to the side. It hung limply as she spat out a mass of bloody spittle. With a manic chuckle the Wanderer slowly looked back at the slave master.

"You hit like a girl," she taunted.

Eulogy slabbed her again. The Wanderer's laughing slowly subsided into sobs. Eulogy mistook her grief for submission. He reached over to her arm and examined her wrist.

"Exactly as I thought. A slave. One of Ashur's actually! Maybe I'll sell you back to him. He has his own special methods for dealing with escaped slaves."

The Wanderer renewed her efforts to escape and struggled violently, but the Talon Company men held her firm.

"Oh, we can't have you struggling like that. It just wouldn't be professional if I sold Ashur a poorly behaved slave. Guess that just means we'll have to break you again." Eulogy looked away from her and to the mercenaries. "Now, in addition to monetary compensation for you gentlemen subduing this wayward slave and also for her actions against your leader, I'd like to offer you something a tad more personal as payment."

He removed the Wanderer's pistol and Vampire's Edge before walking over to an empty cage. He opened the door and motioned for the men to throw her in their. They dragged her struggling body into the cage.

"How would you like to assist in breaking her?"

The mercenaries looked at each other smiling and then nodded at Eulogy.

"Excellent," he exclaimed. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Try not to leave any lasting marks."

Eulogy turned to leave and the men all turned to the captive Wanderer. One of them wound up and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over and another kneed her in the gut. She fell to her knees and clutched her stomach in pain. She felt fingers wrap into her mohawk before being dragged forward. She was thrown forcefully into the dirt and skidded along. She tried to get to her feet, but one of the soldiers stomped on her back. She collapsed into the dust again. Struggling, she tried again. She got onto shaking elbows and tried to rise, but the mercenary stomped down again and she slammed hard into the ground.

"Stay down, bitch!"

A booted foot kicked her in the face. She felt her nose break and blood began to well up.

"You killed Jabsco!" Another kick. This one to the back again.

"You stupid whore!" Another to the face.

Her eyes were pressed shut and she grit her teeth in pain.

"Well, boys. You know what we do with whores, don't you?"

Malicious chuckles fell upon the Wanderer's ears. She could her buckles being undone and a zipper being lowered. She cracked open her eyes and saw one of the mercenaries undoing his pants.

"No. No!" she cried and tried to drag herself away.

"Hold her down."

One soldier clamped his hands to her ankles and another knelt on arms. She thrashed in the dirt, her face contorted in terror.

"Please, no! NO!"

The Wanderer threw her body weight against her captors, but it was no good. Her fingers tried to grasp for anything, but the soldier who had her arms pinned had no sidearm or knife for her to steal.

"I'm going to enjoy this. For Jabsco, of course."

The man grabbed her pants at her waist and began pulling them down. The Wanderer continued to scream and look around for some form of escape.

There! On his belt!

A grenade.

She swore she'd never again be used like this. She would die before letting it happen again.

The man tugged her pants around her ankles and went back for her underwear.

She just had to reach the grenade, but it was too far away.

Her underwear slid down her legs and the man wrestled her thighs apart.

He just needed to come a little closer. She just had to stretch her hand a little farther. The Wanderer was throwing her body forward trying to reach the grenade. She felt one of her shoulders pop and dislocate. She lurched a few more inches forward, but not close enough.

The mercenary leaned over her with a leer.

"Quit struggling! Maybe you'll enjoy this." With a wicked grin he looked down at her. He licked across her face. "Probably not though."

He thrust forward and the Wanderer's finger clamped down around the grenade.

She closed her eyes and stuck a finger in the pin. With a ping she pulled it out. The grenade's lever rose and sailed off with a click.

"OH, FUCK!"

Goodbye, thought the Wanderer.

Goodbye.


	16. Waking Nightmare

So this was death.

It seemed far less peaceful than she'd been led to believe. It wasn't even cold. People always spoke of the cold cling of death. She wasn't cold. In fact she was hot, burning even.

Was this Hell? Hell was a real place?

She'd never given it much thought. The world sucked plenty, why did there have to be a Hell for punishment?

No, the Wanderer didn't think this was Hell. She was even starting to suspect this wasn't death. And that suspicion had something to do with the insistent, high-pitched ringing in her ears. Beyond the ringing were muffled voices... wait, no. Muffled screams.

Who was screaming?

It took a few moments, but then the Wanderer realized. It was her.

Her eyes shot open. Her mouth was contorted in a horrid scream of pain. She looked down. Lying atop her was the torso of the man who had tried to rape her. The grenade had blown his legs off. The rest of the Talon Company mercenaries were lying around her. The grenade's shrapnel having had its intended effect and ballooned outwards in a metal rain directly into them.

She'd been spared due to the body of her attacker shielding her from the brunt of explosion.

Mostly.

Her thighs were bleeding from several places where the shrapnel had pierced her armor. She could also feel a terrible, piercing pain right above her left eye. She slowly raised a shaking hand up to her temple to feel for a cut. Her fingers were stopped about an inch from her forehead. The Wanderer could feel it, whatever _it _was, sticking out from her head. It felt like metal.

The grenade's blast had shattered the armor of the man laying atop her. It had sprayed out and one piece had lodged in her head.

The Wanderer's hand recoiled in shock and she hurried to push the blasted corpse off of her. She sat up and swayed unsteadily. Her head was swimming thanks to the piece of metal. Her vision was blurry and out of focus. Her thoughts were completely chaotic and disordered to the point of incoherence.

Why- why couldn't she think? What had... happened?

Her eyes widened as her memory pierced the shock. She looked at the carnage around her. They were going to rape her! She'd tried to kill herself.

And she'd failed.

She scurried away from the corpses in horror until her back hit the cage wall. The piece of metal in her head was jostled in the process and her vision lit up into stars. A painful wave crashed through her head. She opened her mouth to scream, but instead vomited on the ground. After several more dry heaves, she sat back up.

She had to get it out. Now.

With clumsy hands, the Wanderer tried to grasp at the shard, but it was too slick with blood and every time she moved it in the slightest her vision whited out and she would collapse again.

Fresh tears began to fall from her eyes in frustration and sorrow. What was the point?

Why should she even bother? She might not have been ready to die, but she'd at least made her peace. Now that she'd woken up, life seemed a disappointment. What was left for her?

She knew the answer. Nothing. Nothing left at all.

"Wanderer," a voice croaked. The Wanderer looked up, trying to find the speaker. The voice was weak, but it managed to repeat, "Wanderer."

On her hands and knees, the Wanderer tried to make her way across her cage to find who was talking. She found them in the cage next door.

It was Red.

The teenage girl was lying on her side in a pool of blood. Her eyes were glazed and she struggled to locate the Wanderer.

"Red! Red, I'm here. It's okay, everything is going to be okay. I'll... I'll get you out of here I promise."

The Wanderer continued to drag herself over to the poor girl form Big Town. The grenade the Wanderer had tried to kill herself with had been all too effective on the men attacking her and unfortunately on the captured girl next door as well.

"You're going to be okay! I promise, Red," the Wanderer cried as she reached the dividing wall. She stuck an arm through the wiring trying to reach Red, but was caught several feet short.

"I... I don't think so," replied the girl quietly. "I think this is it for me."

Hot tears ran down the Wanderer's cheeks. "No!" she cried. "No. You can't say that. Big Town needs you. Bittercup, Dusty, Kimba, they're all waiting for you. I'm going to get you out of here! Red!"

Her cries fell on deaf ears. Red was dying. And it was her fault. She screamed in anger and rattled the cage walls.

"I- I just wanted to thank you first. Before I go, I mean."

The Wanderer stopped and slumped against the wall. "Don't thank me. I've killed you. That's all I do. Kill, kill, kill."

"No. You're a hero. You saved me before. You saved all of us. You tried to save me again. I recognized Dogmeat."

"I-"

The Wanderer was too choked up to argue.

"Thank you, Wanderer. I... I think you should go now. I can hear them coming."

The Wanderer could hear them too. Shouts of anger and confusion as the slavers tried to figure out where the explosion had come from and what had caused it.

"Red, I can't leave you here! Red? RED!"

There was no point. The mayor and doctor of Big Town was dead.

The Wanderer crumpled to the ground in defeat. Red was wrong. She wasn't a hero. Heroes weren't drug addicts. Heroes didn't sell their services to people like Tenpenny. Heroes weren't psychotic murderers. Red had to have been wrong. No one could think she was a hero.

Maybe she'd been right to try and kill herself. The shouting of the slavers approached. They were surrounding her cage.

Well, great for them.

With fatalistic determination the Wanderer got to her knees and glared out at them. Eulogy Jones stood at the front of the crowd. Grouse was behind him. She wasn't going to give them the pleasure of killing her themselves. No way would she give them that.

Eulogy met her eyes. His look of anger spoke volumes of what he'd do to her. Too bad for him, she thought, he'd never get the chance.

The Wanderer drew her head back and with eyes closed tight she slammed her head into the ground. The piece of shrapnel impacted on the hard surface and edged further in. Pain blossomed in her mind and she cried out. The slavers cringed in shock and horror.

She grit her teeth and pushed herself onto her hands and knees then slammed her head down again.

And again.

And again.

The fragment of metal halted against her skull. With a scream fueled by all her pain and suffering she brought her head down one more time before collapsing in the dirt.

It wasn't enough. She couldn't do it. She didn't have any more strength. She shut her eyes as blood poured from her tormented head. She lay gasping in the dirt. Oh well, she thought in defeat, I guess Eulogy gets me after all. But it wasn't the cries of rage and degradation from the slave master that she made out. It was the sounds of gunshots and the screams of the slavers.

Assault rifles clattered and revolvers boomed. The noises didn't mean anything to her. They were just noises. The Wanderer had retreated far inside herself where nothing could get to her. Nothing could hurt her. Not even herself.

The cage door clattered open and boots stomped towards her. A gentle hand rolled her over before checking her pulse. A finger lifted one of her eyelids. The shadow of a man in cowboy hat knelt above her.

"Jesus, girl. What the hell happened to you? My god. They did this to you? Hey, you in there? Wanderer!"

The Wanderer stared past him into space, unable to focus.

The shadow shifted and his face came into view. A glimmer of recognition shone in her eyes.

Was that... Simms?

"I got you," he said gently. "Come on now, I got you."

Lucas Simms, the sheriff of Megaton, lifted the Wanderer into his arms with a huff. "You ain't as light as I thought."

He carried her out of the cage. Scattered around the plaza were more Regulators. Had they attacked Paradise Falls? But the Regulators didn't declare war. Did they?

Simms looked down at her in his arms. "It wasn't a war. We didn't come for the slavers. We came for you. This was some spot of trouble you got yourself in."

Simms carried her further towards the front gates of Paradise Falls. The Wanderer saw more than Regulators. She saw Sarah Lyon and the Brotherhood of Steel, Reilly and her Rangers, Harkness and his security, and there she saw... It was Butch, and Charon, and anyone she'd ever traveled with. Star Paladin Cross, Fawkes, RL-3, Dogmeat. They were all waiting for her. They'd all come to save her.

"Damn, nosebleed! You look like shit!"

"You make my job as a bodyguard very difficult... It's good to see you alive."

"I couldn't just leave one of the Lyon's Pride to die, could I?"

"Soldier, you're an honor to the uniform!"

"I see... that destiny... still doesn't know what... to do... with you! My friend!"

They had all come to save her. Her friends. Dogmeat stepped forward and gave a ginger lick to the Wanderer's hand. Everyone was here. They hadn't all left her.

Wait...

This was wrong.

The Wanderer began to struggle in Simm's arms.

"Whoa there! Easy does it. You're injured, let's get you some help."

"No... no," mumbled the Wanderer. She continued to try to escape Simm's hold on her, but the sheriff held firm. She elbowed him in the chest and fell to the dirt. All her companions had gathered around her in a loose circle. They were talking to her.

"Got me out of that damned Vault!"

"Savior of the Wasteland!"

"Freed me from Azruhkal!"

"Changed my destiny!"

"A true hero, soldier!"

Their voices began to blend together, all chanting, "hero, hero, hero." Dogmeat padded towards her. He gave her hand another lick before sinking his teeth into it.

The Wanderer's eyes snapped open. A molerat was trying unsuccessfully to bite through her glove. She swatted it away with a growl and the creature scurried off to its hole.

The Wanderer was laid out on the ground. Her wounded legs hadn't supported her weight. She looked back over her shoulder and could see the lights of Paradise Falls in the distance. There was a trail of blood leading back towards the settlement. She had dragged herself all this way.

But... but what about...

A finger strayed to her forehead. She could feel the piece of metal jutting out from it. When her finger brushed against it shrieking filled her ears and pain exploded across her vision. She collapsed back into the dirt on her back.

It had all been a hallucination. They hadn't come for her... her friends hadn't come for her. She began weep bitterly and hoarse sobs escaped her throat.

They didn't care about her. No one did. She was so alone.

Just like she'd always been.

She rolled back over and looked out ahead of her. Her eyes widened in surprise.

Framed in front of the setting sun were a huge cluster of trees. The greenery was spilling out into the barren Wasteland beyond gated walls. Where was she? What was this place?

Trees and bushes were stretching their limbs up and to the heavens in pre-nuclear-fallout glory. The Wanderer lay there staring in disbelief. Real trees. Amazing.

Three Dog was right. She gave a small snort and immediately winced in pain. Yep, those were some broken ribs thrown in with everything else. She could remember Three Dog talking on the radio about a place with real trees. The enigmatic DJ, while not her favorite person, was right. There were trees, the stupid, radio jockey wasn't high when he'd seen them. Despite the pain, she couldn't keep her self from laughing.

As she curled up on the ground in manic, humor-induced agony, she made a promise to herself that, provided she didn't die here, she would make sure to tell that smug, goatee-wearing, moronic hippie about this place. Maybe he'd stop slandering her then.

That could be nice. The Wasteland was split down the middle. Three Dog telling people she was a sociopath and then all those who thought she was some sort of messiah.

So much of her life was spent playing these roles. She hadn't _really_ escaped that at Tenpenny Tower. Not really.

The laughter was slowly petering out into hoarse sobs. For her entire life she'd held onto some perverse form of hope. At first to convince herself there was something better in the Wasteland and later hope that she could escape her life. Now that hope, twisted and worn it may be, was finally running out. The indestructible Lone Wanderer was finally feeling her own mortality.

Bones broken, body cut, limbs bruised, and mind shattered. What sort of person came back from that?

What sort of person wanted to?

Every time she'd been close to death, she'd fought and she'd fought and she'd fought. She had always thought it was worth it. But now... Now she was starting to think it wasn't. The Wanderer had always come back from the brink. Just to be dragged back to it. Again and again and again.

Maybe this time she'd just die. It couldn't be any worse. The Voices might even be right. She could just lay here and die.

"_Will you do it?"_

The Wanderer closed her eyes. "Yes," she whispered to _his _voice. Her... father's... voice.

"_Will- you- do- it?"_

She nodded her head. She would. She was finally going to leave the Wasteland.

A shadow fell across her.

But the Wasteland wasn't done with her yet. It never was.

"Oh my goodness, Leaf Mother Birch!"

"What is it Branchtender Maple?"

"A- a person! A girl! She's wounded something fierce!"

"Let me see!"

The Wanderer lay there as the people argued, her eyes still shut. "Go away," she weakly muttered.

"Quick get Cypress and Linden. We need to get her inside. She needs medical attention."

Strong hands grabbed her arms and began to pull her. The Wanderer's eyelids fluttered and she squirmed in their grip, but the hands didn't release her. Her heels dragged through dirt and dust and her head lolled back and forth. She was muttering, "no, no, no," feebly and her eyes rolled back and forth behind their lids.

"Where are you taking her?"

"Tree Father Birch."

"Father Birch."

"Where are you taking this girl?"

"Er, well... Leaf Mother Laurel instructed us to bring her into the Oasis for medical attention."

"We cannot let an Outsider into the Oasis! Laurel what are you thinking?!" 

"I'm thinking that this girl will die if we do not help her."

"The unclean may not enter the sanctuary!"

The people pulling the Wanderer had released her hands and laid her on the ground. She rested her feverish face on it. It was cool and soothing against her burning skin.

Why wouldn't they just leave her alone so she could do as _he _asked?

"We can't let her die, Birch!"

"Then perform the cleansing ritual."

There was silence. None of her "saviors" said a word until, "She can't survive that."

"Then she isn't coming into Oasis." 

"Birch! She isn't strong enough to handle the cleansing ritual! She'll die."

"Then that is the will of the Great One."

Silence settled again. The words had barely penetrated the Wanderer's struggling mind. Maybe everything would work out. Sounds like she was screwed either way. Sounded fine to her. That way she could finally do as _he, _as her father wanted.

Leaf Mother Laurel sighed in defeat and knelt next to the Wanderer. "I'm sorry, girl, but this is your only hope. Pray to the Great One for his blessing. Maybe you can get through this."

The elderly woman didn't believe that, but the lie fell to the ears of the fallen girl anyway. Hope was a fragile thing and sometimes a lie was the only way to nourish it.

A cool hand rested on the Wanderer's forehead and stroked down her bruised face. "Poplar, the sap."

The hand moved down to her mouth and eased it open. The Wanderer felt a cup at her lips. A sickly sweet, sticky liquid ran into her mouth. The sap coated her mouth and the Wanderer struggled to swallow. She began to cough, but Laurel kept pouring until the Wanderer choked it all down.

Laurel cautioned everyone to back away and the Wanderer heard everyone surrounding her back a few steps back. She didn't know why. The only reaction she was feeling from the sap was a slight queasiness until...

The Wanderer's eyes sprang open, bloodshot and wild. They rolled erratically in their sockets. She barely registered the group of people surrounding her and the small grove she was lying in. Her back arched to the borderline breaking point and her muscles stretched. She screamed in pain as something horrible burned through her veins. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she began to violently seize on the ground.

Leaf Mother Laurel stepped forward nervously, but Tree Father Birch restrained her with a hand on her shoulder. "Leave her. Her life is in the Great One's hand now." He turned to the Treeminders. "When the seizures stop, lay her in the sacred grove so the Great One may pass judgment on her."

The Wanderer barely heard the exchange. Her pulse was pounding in her ears and she could feel blood running from her nose and eyes. Her joints cracked and tendons groaned as she violently writhed on the ground. Her mind was a mess of pain, but within that red hot prison she heard something unexpected.

_Aaaaaaggghhhhhhhhhh!_

_**Aaaaaaggghhhhhhhhhh!**_

The Voices. They were screaming. She could here _him_ shouting too, but as the seizure raged through her system, but they were fading. Not into the background of her consciousness where they usually lurked, but disappearing completely!

_Nooooo!_

_**Please!**_

They were pleading and begging now, but she could barely her them. Her father's shouts were too faint to hear now and the other Voices were all, but silent. Whatever this cleansing ritual was, it was curing her! Too bad it was killing her as well.

The ritual-induced seizure was taking its toll on the Wanderer's tortured body as it healed her tortured mind. Her limbs snapped back and forth and she was vomiting blood all over the ground. The Treeminders just stood back and watched in silence.

As she jerked in the dirt, Leaf Mother Laurel shook her head. There was no way the girl would survive this. The Great One was certainly powerful, but his gifts took their toll on mortals. Birch should not have insisted that the girl be put through the ritual.

With one final shriek, the Wanderer sank to the ground unmoving like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Laurel shook her head sadly. She looked to the Treeminders, "Bury her in the grove. Allow her remains to do some good and feed the plants than rot away in the Wasteland."

One of the Treeminders knelt next to the Wanderer's still body. He placed his ear over her mouth.

"Leaf Mother! She's alive!"

Laurel pushed him out of the way and listened closely. She could hear the quiet rattling of breath. Laurel smiled. This girl was a strong one. To accept the Great One's blessing in her state was nothing short of a miracle.

"Bless the Great One. Maple! Cyprus! Take her to His grove. Let her body recuperate in His presence."

Leaf Mother Laurel couldn't help but smile at the mystery girl as she was carried away. His will had brought her here and His grace had saved her. Whoever she was, she must have been important for the Great One to have intervened in her fate. What that fate would entail remained to be seen. For now, she would rest and when she awakened, He would welcome her to the Oasis.

_After so many chapters of pretending to kill the Wanderer, we are here! We are almost to the point in this story that I have been waiting to write since the beginning and I certainly hope you will enjoy. We're probably one or two chapters from there. It really depends. I've made some changes throughout the story and have had to adjust slightly, so we'll see, but regardless, thank you all for staying with me for this long and we have plenty more to go, so please favorite and review. The more of those I get, that more readers I get and the more readers I get, the more writing I do._


	17. Shattered Illusions

_Read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

"You... you look like shit. Doesn't she look like shit, Herbert? I certainly think that she, as a matter of fact, does indeed, look like shit. Oi! Outsider! Care to way in?"

The Wanderer's eyes slowly cracked open. The dried blood that had been spilling from her eyes flaked away onto the grass.

"That's it. Come on now, we need you to settle a bet on whether or not you look like shit. I am in the for camp, Herbert on the other hand is against. He (for some reason I cannot comprehend) seems to think you look better than before."

The Wanderer rolled over towards the voice. She looked up at a magnificent tree. Her eyes widened in shock and awe. A crooked face peered out of the branches and bark and was crookedly grinning at her.

With a startled cry she rolled back over and away from the tree. Awkwardly getting to her knees she stared at the face warily.

"Easy there, Outsider. Nothing to worry about. I know, I know, Herbert certainly looks bizarre."

"What are you?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"I am a who, thank you very much!" said the tree rather indignantly. "And Herbert doesn't appreciate being called a what either."

"Who is Herbert?"

The Wanderer's face was slowly shifting from cautious to confused. The tree wasn't making any kinds of sense. She was alone in the grove, well asides the talking tree, but she wasn't fully accepting that. While she mused the tree had continued talking to her.

"Are you listening?"

"What?"

"I was saying, his name's actually Bob. I call him Herbert to irritate him. I find it awfully funny."

The wrinkly, wooden face chuckled happily at... Bob's... misfortune.

"Where, um, where is Bob?" inquired the very confused Wanderer. Something felt very off about this whole conversation and she suspected it wasn't just the talking tree.

"He's right in front of you! See these branches coming up from my head? That's Bob, or Herbert if you prefer, I certainly do. Once upon a time, Bob put his roots down on my noggin and we've been together ever since."

"We? So you're... not Bob?"

"Of course not! I'm Harold. At your service, Outsider." The face kept smiling at the Wanderer, who'd sank back and was sitting on her heels.

"Right, Harold..." she said uncertainly. "I- I think I'm dreaming."

Harold chuckled to himself. "Oh ho! Dreaming are we? Told you she'd go for that one, Bob! You think you're dreaming, little girl? Think again."

The Wanderer fell forward, resting her forehead on the lawn.

"Then I'm hallucinating. It's the drugs or... something. I am NOT having a conversation with a tree."

"Drugs? A junkie are we?" The Wanderer looked up at Harold and glared. "Fearsome, truly terrifying you are."

"Don't patronize me. You're a tree."

"A tree I may be, but I guarantee that you aren't seeing things. Or at least not seeing things that aren't there. Tell me, how do you feel?"

The Wanderer shifted to a more comfortable sitting position with her legs crossed in front of her.

"How do I feel? I'm talking to a tree!"

"Talking to a tree _and_ not answering the question... that's from Bob by the way. Now, how do you feel?"

The Wanderer was starting to get angry at the tree, Bob, Harold, whatever.

"I FEEL-" she started to shout, but then she thought about it. She felt... good? Really good. She certainly didn't feel like someone who had been shot, stabbed, raped, and exploded in under twenty-four hours should feel like. Everything was nice. Nice and... quiet...

"The Voices!" she gasped.

"Er- what?" asked Harold.

"The Voices, they're gone!" The Wanderer lunged to her feet. "You got rid of them! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She threw her arms around Harold's trunk and hugged him tightly.

"Oh my! Er- yeah... you're welcome! Happy Herbert and I could be of assistance."

Still hugging him, the Wanderer pulled her face away from the bark.

"No, Harold, really. You don't know what you've done for me! I feel great! What did you do to me?"

"Me? I didn't do a damned thing. Now, Herbert on the other hand, Poplar made some concoction from his sap. Powerful stuff. Purges the body and drives out the bad stuff. Guess it worked on your Voices too."

The Wanderer stepped back and was looking at herself from all angles. "Purges?"

She ran her hand along her arms. All the cuts she'd inflicted on herself were gone. All that remained were crisscrossing white scars atop her tan skin. She brushed a hand along her sides. The broken ribs were taken care of as well. Same with her broken nose. Everything was fixed. She couldn't even feel the ever present itch from her addiction. It was all gone. She was totally healed. Which meant...

She gasped and looked around her. Her eyes settled on a small pool of water.

"Can I help you, Outsider?" asked Harold as she sprinted over to it. She slid the last few feet on her knees until she was at the waters edge. She peered at her reflection in the water. With a trembling hand she gingerly touched right below her eyes.

Looking up at her from the small pool was the Wanderer, but not as she recognized herself. Vivid green eyes, untouched by the maladies she'd inflicted upon herself, stared up at her. They were wide open in surprise. Her eyes. The eyes of her... mother. The only thing she had of hers. Whatever was in Bob's sap had burned away the chem-induced scarlet haze that had inhabited her eyes for as long as she'd been in the Wasteland.

Tears started to fall from those green orbs, the drops disappearing in the pool with small ripples.

"Hey now! Don't be crying. No need to be sad!"

The Wanderer looked over at Harold with a wet smile on her face. "I'm not sad... I'm happy, Harold."

Harold returned her smile, but the Wanderer didn't see it. She'd returned to meeting her own gaze, her mother's gaze in the pool.

"Thank you, Harold, and Herbert- I mean Bob. Thank you both. You have no idea how much you've done for me. I can't thank you enough."

"Oh shucks, little girl. You'll make me blush. Everyone deserves a helping hand once in a while."

The Wanderer's face fell. "I don't."

Harold snorted. "Kid, whatever you did, doesn't matter. Second chances, third, fourth, the whole shebang. It's not whether you deserve it at the time. It's what you do with it. You got yourself another go around here, what you do with it is up to you. You want to deserve it? Then go _deserve_ it!"

The Wanderer didn't look convinced. "I've had chances. I've never earned them and I still don't."

"Nonsense."

She looked up at the tree who was staring down at her.

"Look, Outsider, you seem like a decent sort. You seem like the sort of person who wants to be good. Being good's not always easy. Especially with the past weighing you down. You've got to move on. Move on from the bad."

"I tried that. I've started over so many times, but it never takes. Bad things don't happen to me. I _am_ the bad thing. It's me. Every time I try to forget the past it comes back to haunt me."

With a groan of wood and a roll of his eyes, Harold glared at her. "Did I say forget the past, kid? Did I say that, Bob? No. No, I did not. I said move on. You might want to forget, but you can't. The past is you. All of you. If you want there to be some good in there, you need the bad too."

"But there's so much bad," the Wanderer whispered.

"Then go be a lot of good! Go! Take some time somewhere, think if you want. Good can't be measured. You want to be good and sit on your porch saying hi to the neighbors then go ahead. You want to be good like some superhero, boom! There's another option. You just got to stay good. Find the path and stay on it. That's what you need to do."

"I... Thanks, Harold. Really, thank you. You've done more for me than I ever would have thought possible. I need to- I need to think about what you've said. I wish I could pay you back in some way though."

Harold remained ponderously silent for a moment. The Outsider girl _could_ actually be of some help to him.

"Actually, I think I can find someway for you to help me."

The Wanderer looked at him expectantly with a smile on her face. Whatever it was she'd be happy to after what he'd saved her from and given back to her.

"Don't go looking at me like that until you hear what I have to say."

The Wanderer cocked her head to the side. "What is it, Harold?"

"I- I want..." Harold seemed to be struggling to put it into words. "I want you to... kill me."

The Wanderer's head stayed turned at a confused angle, but she didn't recoil in shock and horror like Harold expected her to.

"You want me to kill you? Why do you want to die?"

Harold was flabbergasted. Every time he'd asked this of any of the Treeminders they'd been horrified at the idea of killing their god, but this Outsider, this girl didn't even bat an eye. She just asked why.

"Why?"

"Yes, why. If you want to die, you're going to have to give me a good reason."

Harold laughed out loud at her. "Haaa hee-haw haw! I like you, girl! A good reason! HA! Well, have I got a reason for you. I'm old, girl. Reeeeaaaaal old. Way back when, I was a man and I mean way back. Hundreds of years. Myself and some colleagues of mine were exploring this military base, Mariposa I think it was called. Anyway, we went in and found these giant vats of glowing green goop."

"...FEV," muttered the Wanderer.

"What was that?"

The Wanderer muttered a quick nothing and motioned for Harold to continue. "Where was I?" he asked.

"FEV- er- I mean goop."

"Right! The goop. So we were getting ready to leave when something attacked us. I think. I don't really remember. All I know is that I went into one of those vats and when I came out well, that's when I met Bob here. He rooted down and moved in. We traveled for decades together. I've seen more with Bob than most people will in two or three of their lifetimes. But then, I guess Bob got tired of traveling. He kept growing until he wasn't on my head anymore. He put down roots. I've been here for two, maybe three decades. Do you know what that's like. I can't move, can't sleep, can't do anything. For thirty years! After my life! I just can't take it anymore."

"So you want me to kill you and Bob?"

Harold looked horrified. "Kill Bob?! Heavens no! Just me! Just me. Bob will keep on going."

The Wanderer nodded her head. "Okay then."

"Okay?" The girl was going to do it that easy?

The Wanderer stood up and approached Harold. "Yeah, okay. You've certainly had time to think about this and, well, I can empathize sort of. I haven't traveled for hundreds of years, but I've been around. Being in one spot, I could see that being hard for you. So yeah, Harold, after everything you just did for me, I'll help you."

"You'll kill me?"

Her eyes shone with steely determination and her face hardened. "I will. If you want me to. I've had my moments of wanting to die, Harold, but I'm still here and things have gotten better. I never thought I'd be healed, but here I am. Do you even think things could get better for you?"

Harold's wooden face crooked into a thoughtful expression. "Of all the people I've asked, you know that no one has asked me that? Not a one. They all just said no. Do I think things could get better? I don't know. And honestly? I don't care. I'm tired of this world. Once upon a time I'd have thought my life would be over in a hundred years. After many more than that I... I guess I'm trying to say I'm ready."

Harold stared into the green eyes of the girl before him. "Outsider?"

"Yes, Harold?"

"I know I'm asking a lot, but could you- do you think- what I'm trying to say is... I don't want Bob to get lonely. Ask the Treeminders to talk to him for me won't you? Not that prayer garbage. Just chat. Yeah?"

"I'll stop in myself and talk to Bob."

"Thank you, thanks... a lot. For this. I- I guess this is goodbye."

The Wanderer smiled sadly at him.

"Goodbye, Harold."

Harold closed his eyes. 

"Goodbye, Outsider. Bye, Bob."

Far above the two of them Bob's branches moved back and forth. The Wanderer felt no wind.

Bob was waving goodbye. 

Bob's branches didn't stop waving after Harold was gone. They kept waving even as the Wanderer exited Oasis. Now they were waving goodbye to her. The Wanderer stood on a hill top looking back as the top's of Oasis's trees swayed in the windless evening.

"Bye, Bob. I'll come visit you soon," she whispered. With a wave she turned her back to the greenery and started to walk.

She had no goal in mind she was just... wandering.

Harold's words rang in her mind. She had to keep to the path, but what path? She didn't have a path. She hadn't for a long time. She was the Lone _Wanderer_. She wandered.

She sighed. That was a poor excuse. Her nickname couldn't be used to weasel out of Harold's metaphor and explain all the horrible things she'd done, but every time she'd tried to atone, it had all gone wrong. Even when she'd just tried to leave it behind, everything still fell apart. Why?

She wanted a good life. He wanted to be happy, but she'd never deserved it. Harold would have laughed at that. Deserved it. No such thing. There was no karmic balance for the universe. You didn't have to do supreme good to block out the evil. Maybe that's why everything had gone wrong for her.

The Wanderer kicked a rock as she pondered this. She'd saved the entire Wasteland. That was good, right? But then, recently all the terror and horror she'd caused. That was bad. They didn't even out. They couldn't. How could one act equal another? They couldn't! Perhaps that's what Harold was saying. She couldn't make her past vanish. She couldn't clean the slate, but that didn't mean she couldn't be good. She didn't have to be a saint. She just had to not be bad.

She threw her head back and sighed with frustration. Everything was working for her right now. No drugs, no Voices, no commitments and she still couldn't figure her life out. She just wanted to be good. She wasn't trying to walk the line between good and evil. Even that dichotomy was starting to sound real stupid. She just had to be good and stay good. Just stay the path. But where was that path going?

She looked forward again and before her lay a familiar sight. The door in the cliff side. The entrance to Vault 101.

It always came back to the Vault. She started here and she always came back here. It was her beginning and her end. It was just like that passage, Revelation 21:6.

"I am Alpha and Omega."

The Wanderer's heart froze at the words and her eyes widened.

"The beginning and the end."

NO! Harold had fixed her! The Voices were gone! _He_ was gone!

"I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely."

His voice was coming from behind her, but she couldn't look. She couldn't do it. The hair on the back of her neck was raised and she could feel a gaze boring into her back. Someone was there. Someone that couldn't be him. Could it?

As if being pulled on an invisible string her head turned followed by her body. Standing behind her, his body framed in the setting sun stood a man. A man she recognized all too well. His lab coat, his unshaven beard, his face, all of it familiar. It was him. Her father.

"H-how?" she croaked. "Harold got rid of you!"

James stepped forward out of the light, his expression hostile. "I am not so easily forgotten," he spat at her.

The Wanderer fell to her knees. "W-why are you here?"

James stopped before her and stared down at her with unbridled malice in his eyes. "Why am I here? I am here because you have foregone your humanity and need to be punished. Who better to punish you than the one who knows you best."

The Wander sat there stunned. She looked like the ghost of her father had slapped her. Her voice came out as a whisper. "Please, please no." She slowly gained volume. "I'm- I'm better now! I swear!"

James lunged at her. The Wander flinched away from him and sprawled into the dirt.

"BETTER!?" he roared. "How are you better? As soon as you were healed your first action was to take a life!"

The Wanderer curled into a ball on the ground and started to weep. "Daddy, please," she begged.

"You do NOT have the right to call me that!" James narrowed his eyes. "You are NOT my daughter. You're just a shade who wears her face."

The Wanderer continued to weep on the ground. "I'm sorry, I am! I was wrong! About everything!" she cried at him.

James knelt next to her. "Forgiveness does not come that easy.."

He grabbed her head, his fingers digging into her skull. The Wanderer's vision flashed white and a torrent of memories screamed through her mind. Roy Phillips and his gang, The Family and Ian West, Flak and Red. The Wander felt herself falling from consciousness and slipping away. Before she faded, she heard her father speak one last time.

"Your punishment has only just begun."

_I have been waiting for this, readers. I have been waiting and we are finally here. All the questions I've been raising and hints I've been throwing around about the Wanderer's past, well, it's time to start answering them. We're in the final story arc here people. And it's a good one. So, review and favorite, it's easy to do and makes me feel great and when I feel great, I write more. See you next chap_

_Next time: The Name of the Wanderer_


	18. Pain of Remembering

_Close to the end guys! Just this chapter and one more. However, I will be immediately be rolling into a sequel, so that's good news. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

The Wanderer awoke with her face pressed into a metal floor. She slowly pulled her head up and tried to collect her thoughts. Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry. What was going on? What happened? Booted feet approached and stopped in front of her. She looked up the legs of the owner and saw James standing above her.

She scrambled backwards away from the phantom, but he only gave her a cursory glance. He was much more focused on what was going on behind her. He motioned for her to look. Slowly she turned her head around and saw...

She was in a Vault!

And not just any Vault. This was... It was Vault 101.

The Wanderer gasped and scrambled to her feet. Everything was exactly as she remembered it. Doors were barricaded and people were milling about just as they had been when she'd last been inside. In fact it was exactly like it. Even down to the...

The Wanderer's breath caught in her throat as she saw a brown haired girl flanked by two Vault security officers talking to another girl. The first girl; It was Amata. And the other girl...

Her her was died a violent shade of scarlet and was slicked back into two matching mohawks. The girl's hands were trembling in barely contained rage and her teeth were clenched.

It was her.

The Wanderer was staring at herself... but not herself. This girl was angry and volatile, not the fallen warrior that she was now. This girl was on the verge of breaking, but hadn't yet hit rock bottom. The Wanderer remembered this. She remembered what was about to happen all to well.

"Funny that your mind should take us here," said James from behind her. She looked back at him with a mixture of confusion and horror on her face.

"Why are we here?" she murmured, her face pale and white as a ghost's.

James stepped up next to her. "We are here because you are a killer and a murderer. We are here because the Wasteland seems incapable up punishing you for your crimes. We are here so that you may face judgment."

James sneered at her and gestured for her to look back to the girls. Amata was trying to calm the younger Wanderer down.

"Ava, please," she was saying. "Just, just calm down."

The Wanderer flinched at the sound of her own name next to James. James looked at her from the corner of his eyes, but pretended not to notice her discomfort.

"Don't tell me to calm down, Amata!"

Amata backed away from her friend. "Come on, Ava. There's no need for this."

The girl, Ava, took a threatening step towards Amata, but was restrained by a security guard's hand. She glared murderously at the guard and swatted his hand away from her.

"No need?" she asked, her face contorted in anger. "You want me to fucking calm down!?" she screamed. She turned her back on Amata and clenched her fists at her side while making an angry, frustrated noise in her throat.

Amata looked away from Ava and crossed her arms to hold herself. "You don't need to shout-"

Ava whirled back to her and cut her off, "I DON'T NEED TO SHOUT!?" she howled. "YOU'RE KICKING ME OUT!"

Ava's mouth fell open when Amata didn't deny it. "You... are?" she said quietly. "You're actually kicking me out," she continued with rising volume. She hadn't believed it until that moment. "I can't go back out there, Amata! I can't," she pleaded. "Please, no, don't do this to me!"

Amata shifted uncomfortably under the desperate gaze of her friend, while Ava just stared at her in shock at the betrayal she was facing.

"I'm sorry, Ava, but you can't be here anymore. You're... different. You're..."

Ava suddenly shifted from panicked terror and begging back to rage. "I'm what? Dangerous? A killer? The savior of this entire fucking Vault? I can come here when you need me, when you need someone to kill? Is that it?"

Amata seemed to visibly crumple under Ava's words. "No- no that's not true," she protested weakly. Ava jabbed a finger into her chest before she was pulled back again by one of the guards.

"Don't lie to me, Amata. Just don't."

Amata took a deep breath and steeled herself against her friend's wrath.

"Fine, Ava. Fine. What do you want me to say? You're right? You are. You're a killer now. You killed..." She took another deep breath before continuing. "You killed my father."

Ava looked like she had been physically struck. James peered at the Wanderer and saw a similar expression on her face.

"You father?" Ava asked incredulously. "Your father was going to execute me! He was going to get everyone here killed! My... my father died for me and I killed your father for you!"

Amata tried to reach out for her friend, "I know, I know," but Ava stepped away from her with a look of disgust on her face as she looked at the proffered limb. Amata bit her lip and pulled her hand back. "I know about everything that happened to you..."

"But," spat Ava.

"But the Vault is my responsibility now and... and you're not safe to be here."

"I'm not safe? Fuck you, Amata," Ava shook her head in disgust. "And fuck this Vault too. You're all living in a dream world and I cannot wait for you to wake up."

Guards started to surround Ava, but she pushed them away. "Don't make a scene, Ava," pleaded Amata. "They're just here to escort you out."

Ava knocked one of the guards back and moved towards Amata. Several pistols were pointed at her in the blink of an eye. Amata held up her hands to hold fire. Ava got up in Amata's face. "Go fuck yourself. I'll escort myself out."

She brushed past Amata and strode for the exit with her head held high.

"When the Wasteland comes knocking, and it will, don't come crying to me," she shouted over her shoulder.

Amata couldn't see it, but James and the Wanderer could. The anger was a disguise. Tears were streaming down Ava's face as she walked out of her only real home and back out into the place that had taken everything from her. The Vault door shut behind her and sealed with a hiss. The Wanderer stared after her past self as tears started to fall down her face as well.

James was standing smugly next to her. "So they threw you out because of what you'd become."

The Wanderer sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes before turning to face James. "So? What? You're going to judge me too? Amata threw me back into the Wasteland. And she _knew_ what happened to me out there!"

"Did it ever occur to you that her judgment of you may have been correct? That you were dangerous?"

The Wanderer threw her arms in the air in exasperation and walked away from James towards the Vault door.

"Of course I was dangerous! I _had _to be. If I hadn't been dangerous, I'd be dead!"

James followed after her, intent on not letting her walk away from the issue. "So this is all Amata's fault then? Not yours? At all?"

The Wanderer whirled on James, screaming. "IT WASN'T MY FAULT! _I_ didn't want to leave the Vault! _I _didn't want to be a killer! _I_ didn't want to be a drug addict! _I_ didn't want to lose my family! All I wanted was to come home to all that I had left. AND SHE TOOK THAT AWAY!"

James stopped and crossed his arms with a thoughtful expression on his face. "So you really see nothing wrong with your actions here? Nothing at all, Wanderer?"

The Wanderer stiffened. "What? You won't even use my name?"

"That name is no longer yours."

The two, father and daughter, stood at odds, glaring at each other, as the Vault faded into blinding white.

As the world gradually came back into view, the two finally broke eye contact to see where they were. The Wanderer's heart tightened as she again recognized the memory.

Project Purity.

Ava was pounding her fist against the glass of the Purifier and screaming for her father. James (a much kinder version than the one haunting the Wanderer) was standing with a gun to his head. Colonel Autumn stood behind him. The laser pistol was in his hand.

"Perhaps, you'll be more inclined to help me if I employ a different method of persuasion." Colonel Autumn lifted the pistol and trained it on Ava. Even with the plate of glass between them, the laser bolt would still be lethal this close. Her father looked up in horror as his child was put in harm's way.

"Get away from my daughter!" he shouted. James got to his feet and lunged at the Colonel. He tackled him to the side. The laser pistol went skittering away. Before Autumn could regain his footing, James was already at the Purifier's console, quickly typing in commands. With a growing hum, the room began to shake. Ava was back on the glass pounding her fist futilely.

"Dad! NO!"

With an angry rumble the central column of the Purifier burst and a concentrated wave of radiation blasted James across the Purifier and into the containment glass where he was halted with a sickening crack.

Ava screamed in horror and sprinted to where her father had landed. Behind her she didn't see Colonel Autumn struggling to inject himself with something before slipping away.

Kneeling next to her downed father, Ava had her hands pressed to the glass. She was yelling, "Daddy!" over and over again. James struggled to sit up as the radiation began to take its toll on him. He looked up at his daughter, but his eyes were unfocused.

"I- I hope that you can understand why I've done the things that I've done," he said weakly. "The last thing I want to do is to lose my daughter."

Ava continued to cry, and plead, and beg, but James couldn't hear her. "I will always love you."

Ava nodded her head. "I love you too," she whispered. James seemed to smile at that.

"Don't... forget... who you are," he continued. "Now... run. RUN!"

His head tilted to the side and he slumped against the glass divider, dead. Ava collapsed next to his body, her eyes focused on his face. She couldn't stop yelling for him.

The Wanderer shifted uncomfortably as she watched this. "Why are you showing me this?" she asked, white as a ghost.

Her father's phantom turned to her. "I show you nothing. Your own mind has taken us here. Now _watch_."

Ava was still sobbing next to the corpse of her father. Butch was trying to pull her away, but she was fighting against him. Dogmeat stood next to them, barking at his mistress to run, but his yelps fell on deaf and uncaring ears

"Ava! We gotta go! This place is coming down! COME ON!"

She just continued to wordlessly cry and struggle against him. Charon strode forward and pushed Butch out of the way.

"Sorry about this," he muttered gruffly. He struck her in the forehead with the stock of his shotgun. Ava collapsed, unconscious, to the floor. The ghoul unceremoniously threw her over his shoulder and began to run from the room as more and more of the building fell. Butch and Dogmeat raced after him. As they fled, Ava's glazed eyes were still fixated on the body of her father.

James and the Wanderer stood by as the adventurers ran from the building. The Wanderer had wrapped her arms around her torso in an effort to hold herself. She looked at James.

"I- I don't want this. I don't want to see this anymore."

James looked at her with a curious expression as the world began to dissolve once more.

"What you want is irrelevant. Though I must say I am curious why you would be so moved by this seeing as you were threatening to kill me less than a day before."

The Wanderer refused to meet his gaze and cast her eyes downward, ashamed.

"Let's explore that feeling, shall we?"

* * *

Again they stood in Vault side by side, observing the scene before them. However, instead of Vault 101 it was Vault 112 and instead of Amata it was a still very much alive James standing across from his daughter.

"Honey? Is that you?" 

He wore an expression of immediate concern, but that concern was almost immediately overridden by a slight anger and irritation.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the Vault!"

Ava stood across from him, her face had passed beyond _slight anger_ and moved on towards _full blown rage_.

"What am I doing here?! You left me!"

James shifted uneasily. He started to lift a hand to ruefully rub his neck, but caught himself in the act.

"Well... yes... but I had to!"

Ava took a step towards him. Without realizing it, James took a step back nervously. Ava's eyes flashed as she watched her own father move away from her.

"You had to?" she asked, her voice low. "How could you have to?" Her eyes were narrowed and her questions were hissed through clenched teeth. "What could possibly be so important?"

"Your mother and I, we had unfinished work-" James started to say, but he was cut off.

"Is this about mom? Are you trying so hard because of what happened to her? You left me because of her?"

James brow furrowed in anger again. "Don't blame this on your mother!"

Ava threw her hands in the air in exasperation and spun around, turning her back on her father.

"Oh, how could I?! She's so perfect! She was all you could ever think about even before you left me!"

James eyes dropped in shame. He didn't want to admit the truth in his daughter's bitter words. He reached a hand out for her shoulder, but hesitated and dropped it back to his side.

"What has happened to you, Ava? Why are you so..."

Ava refused to look at him. "So what? Hmm, Dad? What am I?" she asked.

"Ava..." Again James reached for her, this time making contact, but as soon as finger tips brushed her shoulder she spun around, slapping his hand away. Her eyes were filled with cold rage and her arms were trembling with barely maintained control.

"They tried to kill me!" Ava screamed at him. James tried to speak. "Honey, I-" but she wouldn't allow it.

"The Overseer was going to execute me! Because you left me there!"

Ava stabbed an accusatory finger into his chest. James fell back a step, more from the emotional blow than the physical.

"I had no idea. I- I thought... I though it was the right choice!" he stammered.

Ava slammed her fists into his chest, knocking him back another step.

"HOW COULD ABANDONING ME BE THE RIGHT CHOICE!?"

James couldn't meet his daughter's gaze. Instead he spoke to the floor.

"I didn't see it as abandoning you. I saw it as moving on, knowing you were safe."

Silence fell in the Vault. Butch and Charon stood awkwardly off to the side. Ava's anger cooled into a deadly, calm realization.

"You were just going to leave me," she whispered.

"Ava, I-"

"You had no intention of coming back for me," she continued.

James opened his mouth, but the words just wouldn't come. The words that could explain everything that was happening. The words that could save his relationship with his daughter. All that would come out was a hollow, "I'm... sorry."

The killer calm that had settled over Ava began to rise. "Sorry isn't good enough."

Sturdy fingers drew a pistol from its holster. An unshaking arm leveled it at James. Ava stared down the sights of her gun directly at him. Butch jumped forward from the sidelines. He wasn't about to let her kill her father.

"Ava! What are you doing?" he yelled at her.

He made a dash for the pistol and managed to lift the gun away from James, but Ava kneed him in the gut and spun out of his grip. As James tried to move for cover, the gun was once more aimed at him.

Ava didn't spare another glance at Butch, but instead spoke to her other companion. "Charon, keep him back."

Charon wordlessly stepped up behind Butch and put him in a headlock.

"Ava, stop! You-" Butch's words were cut off as Charon's hand clamped down over his mouth, turning his shouts into muffled grunts.

James had his hands raised in a futile effort to placate his daughter. "Whatever this is, honey, whatever you're feeling, whatever has happened, I am sorry, I had no intention of-"

But Ava had no interest in listening to him. For the first time in some time, she actually felt like being the one to speak.

"Do you want to know what happened to me, Dad?"

The pistol drifted lazily, but didn't move away from James, as a small smile graced her features. If anything the smile made her visage even more terrifying as her eyes showed no warmth, but instead held the look of a young girl whose world had been shattered.

"See, Amata came to me in the night," she began. "She told me that you'd left, that Jonas was dead, and that I had to run."

The gun dipped further. "I didn't believe her."

Ava began pacing. She was using the pistol to gesture emphatically as she recounted everything that had happened to her since James departure.

"I just knew you wouldn't leave me."

She stopped, her eyes were unfocused. The memory she was retelling was replaying in those eyes.

"The guards found me. They beat me before taking me to the Overseer." Ava's brow furrowed and one corner of her mouth twitched up before her face set into a deep frown. "He was going to execute me." She looked at James again, the frown turning back to anger. With the change in mood, the pistol was once again aimed at his head.

"He was going to execute me because _you_ left," she accused. Her eyebrows lifted dramatically. "But I managed to escape! I got a gun and I ran. It was all so- I just thought that- It... I just couldn't _believe_ that you had left me all alone. It had to be a mistake."

Her face crinkled in disgust. "Stupid, little girl," she hissed, referring to herself.

"Honey-"

Ava violently shook the pistol at him. "Don't! Interrupt!" she growled. James closed his mouth and nervously swallowed.

"My first day out of the Vault I was attacked by slavers. I tried to talk my way out of it. I didn't want to be a killer, so I tried to negotiate. They took me; they raped me; they hooked me on drugs; they sold me."

Jame stared at his daughter in horror, but no words could express his sorrow.

"Want to know how I escaped slavery?" she asked like it was the most normal question in the world. "I slit my new owners throats. They were a bunch of raiders, not exactly nice people. So I cut their throats."

The lack of emotion in her voice spoke volumes of the lengths she'd gone to repress the inhumanities inflicted on her, but James couldn't fathom or even begin to understand the damage done to his poor daughter's mind.

"After that I ran away. I actually made it to Megaton! Know what they did? They shot me! Didn't kill me, too much Psycho and Med-X in my system, but still!" She gave a gruff impersonation of Lucas Simms. "Sorry, little lady. Just shooting another raider bitch."

She started to move around the room again, but the gun remained trained on James. "You'd be proud of me actually. About what I did next, I mean."

She as starting to speak faster and began to ramble. "I disarmed their bomb! Isn't that cool? I certainly thought so! They gave me this really nifty house too. I didn't expect a reward, I was just trying to do what you'd taught me. I was just trying to be a good person."

She stopped pacing.

"That stopped when I met Moriarty. He had some very interesting stories to tell me. Particularly about some of the LIES you've fed me. Oh! And I got more drugs from him."

Ava tore her sleeve up her arm to reveal the multitude of track marks on her arm. "Still haven't kicked that habit, Dad!" she said with a manic grin.

"That's not even the end of my story either! I was still trying to find you after all. I got stabbed, shot, and beaten more times than I can count. The Brotherhood you're so fond of? Yeah, they turned me away when I tried to get help. They thought I was too weak. That I wasn't strong enough to be a knight! And they were right. I wasn't strong enough. People have this habit of dying when I try to help them," she explained. "People don't get it though. I mean, I'm Three Dogs fucking hero of the Wasteland! How could I not help them? HOW COULD I FAIL!?"

She screamed the last question at James. When he provided no answer, she gave a humorless snort.

"How could I not? I've seen more death and destruction that I ever imagined existed. Fuck! I've _caused_ more death and destruction than I ever imagined existed. And it's all your fault. And now I've found you: the man who started it all! The man who ruined me. Dad."

Tears were running down her face at this point and the gun was quivering. James stood in shock at the list of nightmares she'd just revealed to him.

"Honey, please. I know that you're a good person. Whatever is going on I know you'll make the best of it."

"Oh, I was a good person, but weren't you listening? I'm not anymore."

James slowly took a step forward. And then another. He was gently reaching for the gun.

"Honey, please, just put the gun down and I'll help you in whatever way I can."

Ava pushed him back by thrusting the gun in his face. "Because you're such a saint right!? Saint James!" she cried.

James had run out of places to go, his back was against one of Vault 112's virtual reality pods. "Whatever life you make for yourself out here, it's in your power to make it a good one," he tried to reason. "I just don't want to see you go down the wrong path."

Ava screwed her eyes shut and roughly scrubbed at them with her sleeve, trying to dry her tears.

"It's too late!" she shouted at him. "Don't you get it!? I'm just trying to survive! I do whatever I have to."

The gun was pressed into James' chest at this point. "But don't compromise who you are."

He spoke softly to her. His words trying to calm the rage inside.

"It's in your power to be a good person. Just keep that in mind."

"Aaarrrgghh!" Ava pushed the pistol harder into his chest before pulling it away in frustration. "How can you stand there and be sanctimonious? You left me! How can I be a good person if the only person who ever meant anything to me abandoned me!? What am I supposed to learn from that?"

Ava was sobbing violently. "_Tell me_," she ordered. "TELL ME! WHAT WAS SO IMPORTANT YOU HAD TO LEAVE ME! WHAT WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR OWN DAUGHTER?!"

She stepped back towards James again and this time screwed the gun barrel into his forehead. James, to his credit, did not blink and kept eye contact.

"Project Purity."

Ava brought her face close to his. "What is Project Purity?"

"It was your mother's dream. Clean water for the entire Wasteland," he explained. "A dream that she didn't get to see completed.

"Of course not. Because she died," muttered Ava derisively.

James looked at her imploringly. "I can finish it. _We _can finish it. Together. We can save the Wasteland. For her. For you mother."

Ava's arm dropped and the gun clattered to the ground. Charon seeing the dispute was over released Butch, but didn't let him approach.

"Of course we can," she said bitterly. "I'm the hero of the Capital Wasteland and you're Saint James the Paragon of Fatherhood. You want to save the Wasteland? Fine, but I want nothing to do with you."

"Ava-"

She cut him off. "You need something from me? You can get Doctor Li to ask me. I don't want to see you."

James face fell at her words. "Honey, I know you're angry," Ava laughed scornfully, "but this is the right thing to do. Your mother would be-"

"Don't talk to me about her. Don't. Ever." Ava's face had frozen again. James hurriedly nodded his head before continuing.

"Ava- I... Just know that I love you. You're my daughter."

Ava stared at him coldly.

"Not anymore."

Ghost-James watched Ava turn and leave her stricken father behind her. Butch and Charon followed her out. He turned to look at the Wanderer. She was, to his surprise, seated on the floor, holding her knees to her chest. Her eyes were red from crying.

"I told him I wasn't his daughter anymore. That... that didn't stop him from being my father. He died for me. I blamed everything on him and he sacrificed himself for me. Why would he do that?"

She looked up at her tormentor. "Why would you do that? After everything I said, why?"

The specter of her father looked down at her, but the malice that had been such a part of him had seemed to have bled away.

"A father's love will always be there. I couldn't stop loving you anymore than I could stop you from hating me."

The Wanderer looked back to the memory of her father.

The world began to fade around James and the Wanderer again. James looked surprised to see the dissolution. He looked back to the Wanderer, but her eyes were still fixated upon where her father had been. He almost didn't catch her whispered words.

"I didn't hate you."

"I hate me."

* * *

_Please review guys!_


	19. Broken Soul Renewed

"I hate me."

James barely heard the whispered admission as the memory of Vault 112 crumbled away to be replaced with a bright, sterile environment. An operating room.

The operating room of Vault 101. Lying on the table was a woman.

"Catherine..." said James softly. His stern demeanor and acidic expression had softened to one of happiness. His wife was screaming in pain, but James face didn't change. He knew what was happening.

The Wanderer stood next to him with her back to the proceedings. Her arms were once more wrapped around herself in an effort to keep together. She couldn't bear to look at what was happening.

Catherine's screams were slowly petering out only to be replaced by the cries of someone different. A newborn infant. A much younger version of James stepped between the two observers. He crossed the room and held up the child in his arms.

"Let's see... Are you a boy or a girl?" James face lit up. "It's a girl? A girl! We've got a daughter, Catherine! A beautiful, healthy baby girl!"

The Wanderer winced as she heard him speaking like this. The specter of her father smiled sadly as his past self held the child and rested a hand on his exhausted wife.

"You've brought us here," he said to the Wanderer, but his eyes remained fixed on his wife.

The younger James was wiggling a finger in front of his daughter's eyes.

"Look at you, look at you. Hi there! I'm your daddy, sweetheart. Daddy. You're going to need a name aren't you? Your mother and I have been talking. What do you think about Ava? That's a good name don't you think?"

Baby Ava cooed happily.

"Fit's you perfectly."

James broke his gaze away from the happy family to look at the Wanderer. She was gripping herself so tightly that her knuckles were white and her eyes were closed. She wouldn't look at her mother or father behind her.

"Why have you taken us here? Everywhere else are moments you regret, that you are ashamed of. Why here?"

As he asked her his gaze was slowly pulled back to his wife. To see her face once more was tearing at his heart. To be so close, yet so powerless to save her.

The new father was pulling a monitor down to his wife and child eagerly. "Look's like they've finished the gene projection. Let's see what you're going to look like when you grow up." James laughed happily. "You're going to look a lot like your dad, but you have your mother's eyes. See that, Catherine?"

The Wanderer opened her eyes. And looked at her father's ghost. She still wouldn't look towards her mother. Her green eyes were wet and full of misery. James looked between her and the hopeful face of the young woman displayed on the monitor. The eyes were the only similarity. One was full of pride and joy, these had been stripped away from the other. The Wanderer was just a broken shell now.

"It's a big world out there, honey, full of people. What about you? What kind of person are you going to be?"

The Wanderer began to cry. All the memories she'd been forced to revisit all leading up to this moment. What sort of person was she going to be? A killer, a monster, a failure.

James looked at the infant and his ghost looked at the Wanderer. "You're just-" they both started, but were interrupted by a shrill beeping. James lunged to his wife's side.

"Catherine? Catherine! She's in cardiac arrest. Start compressions! Get the baby out of here! Move. Move!"

Baby Ava was taken from the room and the environment began to fade away.

"One, one thousand. Two, one thousand... Come on! Hang on, Catherine! Hang on."

James counting and anguished cries slowly faded out along with the operating room until the Wanderer and Ghost-James were standing once more in front of Vault 101.

The Wanderer slid to the ground and curled into the fetal position. She began to sob uncontrollably.

James knelt next to her. "Why... why would you blame yourself for this? This wasn't your fault."

The Wanderer looked at him. "I killed her. I killed my own mother. I was always meant to be a killer," she cried. "I've been doing it since the day I was born."

James recoiled in shock. "No. Honey, no! You didn't do this! Your mother's death was not your fault."

But the Wanderer wouldn't listen. "I'm a monster," she said softly.

"No! You're not! There's still time. You can be better! I know you can."

The man that had been torturing her until now was telling her she could be better. No. She couldn't. Not anymore.

"I'll just kill more people. Everything dies around me."

The Wanderer swallowed and dried her eyes. She knew what she had to do. Everything had been leading her to this point. Tenpenny Tower, the Voices, Paradise Falls, all of it.

Now she just needed a gun.

She staggered to her feet and towards the entrance. James called after her, "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

The Wanderer stopped at the first skeleton laying in the dirt hall. She checked it. It had nothing, but a sign requesting to be let in to the Vault. The next had a hat and can of beans, but the third!

Clasped in its hand was an old beaten up pistol. She cracked its fingers away and removed the gun from its grasp. She placed the barrel under her throat.

"NO!" Shouted James. He made a dash for her and attempted to grab at the pistol, but his hands went right through the metal. He had no substance here. He had no power over the Wanderer anymore.

"Goodbye, Dad," she said, lowering the pistol momentarily. "I'm sorry." With a final sigh she prepared herself.

"You can't do this! You're stronger than this," insisted James. "What happened to the girl who fought for her life? Who clung to it? You can't just give up!"

The Wanderer's brow furrowed. He didn't know what he was talking about. She closed her eyes and put the gun back to her throat.

"What happened to the girl who was willing to sacrifice everything for the Wasteland?!"

The Wanderer's green eyes sprung open, full of anger. She whirled on her father.

"I did!" she screamed. "I sacrificed _everything!"_ Hot tears of anger and sadness began to fall from her face and land in the dirt. "The Wasteland took everything from me. That's what happened! And I can't take it anymore."

Staring down the ghost of her father, she put the barrel of the gun against her temple and stared at him, daring him to try and stop her.

James raised a hand, imploringly. "AVA! NO!"

The Wanderer blanched. Her name. He'd said her name.

A hand closed on her wrist and struggled to pull the gun away from her head. The Wanderer stared at where her father had been standing, but he was gone.

"You... you said my name."

"Of course I did, you crazy bitch!"

"Wh-what?" she asked in surprise.

The voice that answered her wasn't James. It had spoken in her ear and belonged to whoever was holding her wrist. She jabbed the elbow of her free arm backwards, but she met body armor instead of flesh. With a grunt of pain from her and a short exhale from the man restraining her. She threw her legs up into the air and let gravity take her body weight.

She dropped like a stone and the man started to follow her, but released her instead of tangling with her on the ground.

"Ah, damn it! Come here, you! And give me that gun!"

The Wanderer hit the ground hard and rolled backwards between the man's legs and up to her feet behind him. She placed the gun to his head.

"Who are you? How did you know my name?"

The man standing before her was clad in clothes she hadn't seen before in the Capital Wasteland. He was wearing khaki pants and a tan short, sleeve button up shirt. One of the sleeves was missing and a black t-shirt poked through. On this arm he wore a small shoulder plate and bicep armor. His hands were raised and more armor was clamped over his forearms above dirty, tan skin. His gloves had the first finger removed on either hand. He was wearing an armored chest piece as well, what her elbow had hammered on ineffectually. His thighs, kneecaps, and shins were similarly protected. On his right thigh was holstered a shiny, well cared for pistol. Another one was holstered in the small of his back. Atop his messy, black hair stood a straw cowboy hat, just under the brim of which was her pistol.

"Easy there, easy. No need to start shooting."

He spoke softly, his voice like one used to calm a spooked animal.

"I asked how you knew my name," repeated the Wanderer angrily.

"I know, I know. Just come down."

He was still speaking calmly to her, but at the same time he was slowly lowering his right hand towards his gun. The Wanderer snorted. Could he be any more obvious?

She went to grab his wrist with her free hand, but as she shifted he moved. The gun was just a ploy. He sank down and spun around, snapping a leg out to catch her unawares and hitting her in the back of the knees. With a startled yelp she fell backwards. Both the man and the Wanderer rolled backwards away from their opponent; the man drawing his pistol and the Wanderer trying to regain her footing.

Sliding in the lose dirt, the man trained his gun on her, but the Wanderer was already darting towards him. With a muttered curse the man threw himself back while pulling the trigger. The shot went wild and didn't connect with her. She jabbed with her free hand at his throat, but he pulled back his head to avoid it. He drew his second pistol and pulled the trigger next to her ear. The violent bang shattered the quiet and potentially the Wanderer's ear drum. She cried out in pain and stumbled backwards.

"Alright, sorry about that, but, you know, you had a gun to my head."

The Wanderer looked at him as she clamped her hands over her ears and grit her teeth in pain. The man was older than her, probably late twenties. His eyes sat twinkling mischievously above a nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice. He kept a trimmed mustache above a cocky grin.

"Ah, come on. It doesn't hurt that bad," he laughed at her.

The Wanderer's foot whipped out and struck between his legs. Her boot clanged off the piece of metal guarding his privates, but the impact was enough for the man to double over in pain.

The Wanderer stood up still rubbing her ear. "Ah, come on. It doesn't hurt that bad," she mocked.

"Touche," he started to mutter before he was once again kicked, this time in the face. The man sailed back and thudded into the dirt, his cowboy hat floating down on top of him. He was down, but not out and the Wanderer had no intention of sticking around to wait for him to get up. She turned on her heel and sprinted out into the Wasteland.

"Ava! Wait!"

The Wanderer whirled around, yelling, "How do you know my name!?" but the cry was just a ploy by the man to get her stop. As she turned he jumped at her and tackled her to the ground. He wrapped one arm around her throat and the other around her arms. His legs scissored around her waist and he held her firm.

She growled viciously at him and writhed about, but he didn't release her. After a few moments her violent moments slowed until she sat glowering in silence. The man craned his neck to look at her.

"You done now?"

"The fuck do you want with me?" she spat back at him.

"I was hired to find you," he answered.

"What are you, a bounty hunter?" She gulped. "A... slaver?" she asked nervously.

The man looked offended. "A slaver? Hell no! I'm a goddamn mail man. A courier."

"A courier?"

"Yeah."

"And you were sent to find me?"

"Bingo."

The Wanderer sat considering this for a moment. "Wanna let me up?"

The Courier looked at her warily. "You gonna kick me in the cajones again?"

She said nothing, but the Courier took the silence as an agreement. He slowly unwrapped his fingers from her wrist and let her roll of off him. They slowly clambered to their feet and turned to face each other.

The Courier was dusting his pants off. "I've been tracking you for a while and the trail you left said you were _dangerous_, but damn, you're good. I mean... fuck."

The Courier had looked up to see the Wanderer pointing her gun at him again. "You said-"

"I said I wouldn't kick you again. I'm not kicking you. Now, start talking."

The Courier had his hands half raised, but didn't seem particularly worried about the pistol trained on him. "You know, threatening is generally more effective if the gun works." He pointed a finger at it.

"I'm not stupid. I'm not going to fall for that."

He rolled his eyes. "No, really. Look." The Wanderer glanced at the side of her pistol. Right in the side of the barrel was a bullet hole.

"What the..." she muttered curiously.

When he first shot, she realized, he hadn't missed. He just wasn't aiming for her. He was trying to disarm her.

She brandished the broken gun at him angrily. "How the hell did you make that shot?" The Courier crossed his arms in front of his chest and smiled smugly at her. "I'm a really good shot. Now, about that threatening."

The Wanderer interrupted him by pistol whipping him in the face. His head snapped back and blood spurted from his nose.

"AH! What the fuck?" he asked as he gingerly pinched his nose. "Why would you do that?"

She raised her hand threateningly again. "Who. Are. You."

"I already told you I'm a courier, ahhyeeahh!" She swung the gun at him again, but he ducked under her arm. "I swear, that's my job." He was talking faster now. "I was hired by a man to find his family. He was expecting a son and daughter in law, but, well, he's got you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're family," the Courier said, "they hired me to find you."

The Wanderer stopped trying to bludgeon him and her arm fell weakly to her side. "W- what? I don't... have any family."

"Sure you do. Just not here." The Courier fumbled around in one of his many pockets and pulled out a battered post card. He flicked it her. She caught it and looked at it in her hands. In worn and scratched ink was a picture of a small rural town. In bright, flashy letters it read 'Welcome to Goodsprings!'.

The Wanderer sat back onto the ground with a thump in shock. She felt like crying. She felt like screaming. Nothing would come out. All the rage and pain she'd been holding in for the past three years had stormed out of her and now there was... nothing. "I... I have a family?"

The Courier plopped down next to her. "Sure do. You've got a grandfather. I was hired to track down your mother and father. Or any sign of them. Well, I was a tad to late. Sorry for your loss by the way."

The Wanderer looked at him. Despite his nonchalant way of telling her, she could tell he was genuine. "My parents are dead. Why are you still here?"

He smirked. "I got hired to find _family_. Not son or daughter. And well, you left some very big signs across the Wasteland. Wasn't hard to track you. Then you dropped off the grid a few months ago. Took me this long just to find you again. You've got a grandfather. And if you're willing, I'd be happy to take you to him."

"Where is he?" she asked quietly. He pulled out a delivery order. On it read, 'Delivery: Good Springs, Nevada, Mojave. Package: Persons, Family. Recipient: Doctor E. Mitchell.'. "I've got a grandfather," she whispered quietly.

"Sure do. So, Ava Mitchell... What now?" The Courier rose back to his feet and looked down at her. She looked up at him in panic.

"I- I don't know... what to do? What do I do?" she whispered. "What do I do?!"

The Courier extended a hand to her. "No one can tell that, but you."

She frowned. No one, but her. So long with nothing, but people telling her to do. Now there was no Three Dog, no Burke, no Voices, and no ghost of her father. Just her.

The Wanderer looked up at the Courier and nodded. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"Glad you decided to come, kid" the Wanderer said to her and for the first time in a long while _Ava,_ and not the Wanderer, looked back at him with a smile.

* * *

End of Part 1. To be continued in Part 2: Frontier Dreams

* * *

EPILOGUE: The Courier and Ava were hurrying out of the Capital Wasteland. Too many people wanted her dead for them to waste time. They stopped briefly at one of her gear stashes so she could grab supplies, but kept moving quickly.

However, their departure was not completely unnoticed. A pair of mismatched eyes on a scarred face and snout looked down at them as they fled. A large, gray and black mongrel sat on the top of the cliff side of Vault 101 staring down at them. He was happy for his mistress. She smelled better now. He scratched his neck. Some of his wounds were itching as they healed.

Several high pitched yips caught his attention. He'd love to go with her, but he had his own concerns now.

Dogmeat got up off his haunches and went back to his den. His pups were barking happily at him.

Good luck, mistress.

* * *

_I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I will be starting Frontier Dreams immediately. No wait for you guys. It will be posted as a new story and I hope you all continue to read it. Expect a bit of a genre change. Less tragedy, more growing as a person for the Wanderer (who I can finally stop referring to as just the Wanderer now, yay). I'm excited for it and I think you all will enjoy it. Please, if you haven't reviewed yet, I ask that you post a quick review of the whole story, just your impressions, stuff like that. It is not only nice for me to see what you guys think, but it is also helpful. I want to make a better story for you guys and the only way I can do that is if you guys let me know what needs work, so please review and please join me in Frontier Dreams._


End file.
